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KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE 


AN 


ALASKAN    STORY 


BY 


MRS.    EUGENE   S.  WILLARD 
Author  of  "  Life  in  Alaska  " 


FOURTH  EDITION. 


FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 
New  York  Chicago  Toronto 

Publuhtrt  of  Evangelical  Littraturt 


% 


Copyright,  1892, 

— BY — 

EUGENE  S.  WILLARD. 


I 


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/ 


TO 
THE  LITTLE  MISSIONARIES 

WHO     HAVE     BEEN     SENT     WITH 
god's   MESSAGE 
TO 
OUR   HEARTS   AND  OUR   HOME. 


mac 

sid€ 

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Preface  to  Fourth  Edition. 


We  are  all  children  enough  to  ask,  **  Is  it  true  ?  "  and. 
to  enjoy  having  **  Yes,  "for  answer  ;  so  I  wish  to  say  very 
frankly  that  the  main  incidents  in  Kin-da-shon's  story  are 
as  he  gave  them  to  us,  and  Kin-da-shon  himself  has  been 
pictured  as  we  knew  him — gentle,  strong,  patient,  con- 
scientious, and  affectionate.  He  has  passed  away  since 
the  writing  of  this  story. 

The  Other  characters  have  also  been  drawn  from  life, 
though  seldom  from  one  life  alone  ;  and  the  scenes  and 
incidents  have  had  their  counterparts  in  the  real  life  of 
the  Chilkat  people,  and  are  true  to  its  conditions. 

"A  Bit  of  History" — f/iaf  is  photographed^  without 
retouching. 

For  "  The  Trip  to  Fort  Simpson  "  the  author  is  indebted 
for  much  of  the  data  to  Dr.  Sheldon  Jackson's  account  of 
his  canoe  trip  with  a  party  of  native  traders,  as  given  in 
his  book  "Alaska,"  chapter  9.  Much  of  that  which 
made  it  possible  to  give  in  familiar  detail  the  Chilkats' 
side  of  the  story  was  gleaned  from  themselves,  as,  in  the 
course  of  years,  one  and  another  has  spoken  with  grati- 
tude or  amusement  of  the  experiences  of  that  never-to- 
be-forgotten  trip. 

It  was  Dr.  Jackson  who,  in  response  to  the  pleadings 
of  these  Chilkats,  promised  to  do  what  he  could  to  send 
them  a  missionary.  As  a  result  of  this  promise,  and  with 
his  prompt  and  well-directed  aid,  we  established,  in  1881, 
the  mission  since  called  Haines,  on  Portage  Bay.     Nor 


PREFACE. 

has  there  been,  I  believe,  from  the  first,  a  mission  started, 
a  school  opened,  or  a  teacher  sent,  that  has  not  been 
due  to  the  consecrated  energy  of  this  true  apostle  to 
Alaska,  whose  loving  interest,  wise  counsels  and  substan- 
i'al  help  continue  to  bless  them  all. 

Rev.  Thomas  Crosby,  of  the  Methodist  Church  of 
Canada,  was  the  devoted  missionary  at  Fort  Simpson. 
The  influence  of  his  work  has  been  far-reaching,  and  has 
blessed  many  tribes. 

The  question  has  been  raised  regarding  the  slaughter 
of  slaves  at  the  death  of  their  master.  *'  How  long  ago 
VT2?  such  a  thing  possible  in  Alaska  ? "  I  answer,  Kin-da- 
shon  was  one  of  the  young  men  of  our  mission  villag^e, 
not  above  twenty-six  years  old,  I  would  think,  when  he 
gave  me  the  incident  recorded  on  page  43  as  one  of  the 
keenest  memories  of  his  boyhood  ;  and  I  yet  recall  his 
evident  anguish  in  picturing  to  me  his  own  part  in  the 
torture  of  a  witch,  as  I  have  tried  faithfully  to  re-present 
it  on  page  76. 

The  form  of  marriage  represented  in  Chapter  XV.  is 
not  claimed  to  be  the  common  one  among  the  Kling-get 
people,  but  that  it  has  been  used  among  those  of  high 
caste  in  the  long  ago  I  have  the  word  of  one  of  our  most 
intelligent  and  conscientious  native  Christians,  whose 
picturesque  description  has  been  here  adapted. 

With  these  two  exceptions,  the  customs  as  shown  in 
this  book  a.re  present  customs,  save  as  they  are  being  dis- 
placed by  the  influence  of  Christianity  or  more  secretly 
observed  through  fear  of  the  white  man's  law. 

In  kindly  criticism,  a  prominent  ethnologist  has  cited 
the  fact  that  Indians,  in  an  untutored  state,  never  kiss. 
The  author  replies  that  it  was  with  a  knowledge  of  this 
fact,  and  for  the  express  purpose  of  showing  one  of  the 
distinctions  between  the  Alaskan  and  the  Indian,  that  thig 


# 


PREFACE. 


Jtarted, 

>t  been 

)stle  to 

[ubstan- 

irch  of 
fmpson. 
land  has 

aughter 
ang  ago 
Kin-da- 
villaee, 
i^hen  he 
e  of  the 
call  his 
:  in  the 
present 

XV.  is 
ling-get 
3f  high 
IX  most 

whose 

own  in 
ng  dis- 
ecretly 

i  cited 
r  kiss. 
>f  this 
3f  the 
U  this 


reference  (page  31)  was  introduced.  On  first  coming  into 
the  country,  I  asked  an  interpreter  from  one  of  the  more 
Southern  tribes  for  the  Kling-get  word  for  kiss.  The 
shame-faced  answer  was:  "We  never  do  it;  there  is  no 
name."  I  then  watched  for  it,  and  discovered,  among 
those  quite  remote  from  white  influence  and  example, 
among  those  who  never  before  had  seen  a  white  woman 
or  child,  that  there  were  both  fathers  and  mothers  who 
fondled  and  kissed  their  little  ones,  and  who  named  it 
without  shame,  assuring  mt  hat  it  was  one  of  their  most 
ancient  customs. 

It  is  pleasant  to  not :  in  t'is  connection  another  char- 
acteristic of  the  South-eastern  Alaskans,  i.  e.,  the  equality 
of  the  sexes.  Only  in  n^  dttcrs  of  reparation  for  physical 
injuries  is  a  man  worth  two  women  of  his  own  caste.  In 
other  respects  she  is  the  favored  one.  She  is  not  a  drudge, 
or  the  burden-bearer  of  the  family,  but  she  carries  cheer- 
fully her  share  of  its  responsibilities.  As  indicated  by  her 
name,  **  sha"  (which  is  the  Kling-get  word  for  "  woman,'* 
"head,"  and  "mountain"),  she  is  recognized  as  the  head 
of  the  family,  and  is  constantly  appealed  to  by  her  hus- 
band for  advice  or  approval  in  his  business  transactions. 

The  writing  of  this  story  is  not  the  result  of  an  ambi- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  writer  to  be  known  as  a  novelist: 
let  me  speak  of  how  and  why  it  was  written. 

Two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  lay  between  the  farther- 
most Protestant  mission  of  Alaska  and  the  country  of  the 
Chilkats  beyond,  when  we  went  to  carry  to  them  the 
"good  news,"  and  to  make  our  home  among  them. 

A  white  trader  with  his  native  wife  had  preceded  us  by 
several  months  ;  with  this  single  exception,  we  were  the 
only  whites  in  the  country. 

The  Chilkats  were  the  master  tribe  among  the  Kling- 
gets,  holding  themselves  aloof  from  their  "poor  relations," 


X 


PREFACE, 


and  priding  themselves  on  their  rank  and  their  adherence 
to  old  customs.  They  were  regarded  with  awe  and  fear 
by  the  other  tribes. 

Our  association  with  the  people  was  peculiarly  close,  as 
minister,  teacher,  physician,  and  friend,  and  gave  us  un- 
equaled  opportunities  for  not  only  seeing  their  customs 
and  hearing  their  traditions,  but,  gradually,  as  we  came  to 
understand  their  language,  to  know  the  people  themselves 
in  heart  and  thought  by  their  confided  life-stories  and 
experiences. 

During  those  early  days  we  fully  realized  that  great 
changes  awaited  this  people — changes  to  be  accomplished 
not  only  by  the  gospel,  but  by  the  inevitable  contact  of 
incoming  civilization  with  its  various  blessings  and  curs- 
ings. We  knew  that  these  changes  must  come  soon,  and 
that  the  new  generation  would  be  ignorant  of  the  original 
beliefs  and  manners  of  their  fathers.  Knowing,  too,  that 
the  transitional  period  must  necessarily  be,  to  a  large 
extent,  one  of  demoralization,  we  longed  to»put  on  record 
our  knowledge  of  what  they  had  been — the  better  and  the 
worse — and  so  preserve  for  our  children,  both  white  and 
brown,  something  of  the  old  time.  With  such  an  object, 
the  writing  of  this  story  was  begun.  Time  for  it  could  be 
taken  only  after  the  long,  busy  day  among  the  people  ; 
'twas  then  that  something  was  written  of  that  which  we 
had  heard  or  seen. 

But  after  a  time  the  slowly  growing  manuscript  was 
laid  aside,  and  for  nearly  eight  years  it  was  untouched ; 
then  other  reasons  urged  its  completion. 

Many  of  those  anticipated  changes  have  taken  place. 
The  people  are  both  better  and  worse.  The  weakest 
and  the  worst  are  sneered  at  as  the  product  of  Christian 
missions — the  sneer  reveals  the  character  of  the  sneerer. 
Many  of  the  people  are  what  they  are  to-day  as  a  result 


/ 


PREFACE. 


of  the  deviVs  missions  to  Alaska,  prosecuted  by  the 
whiskey  dealer,  the  license  vender,  the  dance-house 
proprietor,  and  by  men  who,  having  forsaken  the  teach- 
ings of  good  mothers  and  prostituted  their  own  God- 
given  instincts,  have,  instead  of  making  pure  and  happy 
homes  with  women  of  their  own  race  and  intelligence, 
taken  advantage  of  the  native  custom  of  marriage  to 
build  a  domestic  structure  which  cannot  endure  and 
which  works  ruin  to  all  concerned. 

Then,  too,  the  natural  thrift  of  the  people  has  been 
unduly  stimulated  in  some  instances  into  a  greed  for  gold, 
though  the  larger  number  are  good  spenders  as  well  as 
industrious  laborers,  and  real  homes — Christian  homes — 
iii  houses,  "just  big  enough  for  Tashekah  and  me,"  are 
clustering  about  the  missions  to  the  gradual  exclusion  of 
the  big  native  house  wich  its  homeless  inmates. 

To  those  who  have  regarded  the  history  of  our  Indians 
of  the  States,  our  "century  of  dishonor"  is  a  fact  to 
which  may  be  traced  the  loss  of  many  precious  lives,  the 
loss  of  untold  wealth  from  our  country's  treasury,  and 
the  loss,  more  than  equally  great,  of  a  people,  powerful 
in  character  and  in  numbers,  who  might  have  been  to-day 
the  sinew  of  our  nation  as  educated,  christianized  men 
and  women.  Every  step,  though  so  tardily  taken  by  our 
government,  toward  bringing  the  Indian  into  an  en- 
lightened citizenship,  has  had  its  resultant  blessings,  and 
we  have  to-day  in  their  rising  generation  many  true  and 
intelligent  patriots. 

Many  of  our  early  mistakes  as  a  nation  dealing  with 
its  wards — its  ignorant  children — have  been  avoided  in 
Alaska.  Twenty  years  was  a  long  time  to  leave  them 
without  a  school,  without  the  touch  of  a  fostering 
parent  hand,  but  since  these  havv-  been  given  the  work 
has  gone  bravely  on,  and  there  are  no  more  loyal  citizens 


PREFACE. 


under  our  flag  than  the  hundreds  of  intelligent  native 
young  men  and  women,  boys,  and  girls  who  have  been 
trained  in  our  Alaskan  schools.  May  the  number  of 
such  schools  be  greatly  increased ! 

But  against  the  pleasant  record  of  beneficent  law  and 
justice  for  this  beautiful  northland  of  ours  there  must 
now  be  placed  a  stain.  I  refer  to  the  recent  substituting 
of  license  for  the  prohibition  of  liquors. 

Shall  our  new  century  be  a  century  of  greater  dishonor? 

Shall  our  laws  protect  a  traffic  which  brings  ruin  to  our 
own  race,  and  deeper  degradations  to  our  *'  new  posses- 
sions "  than  ever  they  knew  under  the  heathen  super- 
stition or  the  despotism  from  which  we  are  so  boastfully 
wresting  them  ? 

If  Kin-da-shon's  Wife  shall  help  any  one  to  see  more 
clearly  what  should  be  done  for  our  "little  brothers  and 
sisters,"  and  prove  any  inspiration  toward  the  doing  of 
it,  the  main  object  in  the  writing  of  this  book  shall  have 
been  attained. 

Carrie  M.  White  Willard. 

May,  1900. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

Summer  Days  in  the  Chilkat  Country 9 

CHAPTER  II. 
Return  of  the  Trading  Party ^7 

CHAPTER  III. 
Kah-sha's  Home-ing ^3 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Death  of  Chief  Kood-wot, 3° 

CHAPTER  V. 
Yealh-neddy's  Revenge 44 

CHAPTER  VI. 

tKOTCH-KUL-AH ^^ 
CHAPTER  VII. 
In  the  Meadows,            "^ 

CHAPTER  Vlll. 
\       Mourning  Days, 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Cross-Purposes, 


'^. 


6  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  X. 

PACK 

Purposes  not  Crossed, no 

CHAPTER  XI. 
A  Day's  Outing lafi 

CHAPTER  XII. 
The  Trip  to  Fort  Simpson — Into  the  Light,       .        .        .     140 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Gambling — A  Heavy  Stake, i6o 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

USHA-SHAWET,   KOTCH-KUL-AH,   AND  KiN-DA-SHON,  .  .  .       I70 

CHAPTER  XV. 
The  "Wedding-Party, 187 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
The  Goosh-ta-kah — A  Beloved  Ghost 198 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Kin-da-shon's  Son — The  Rescue — At  Yhin-da-stachy — To 

the  Yukon 210 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
The  Young  Mother — Yealh-neddy's  Plot,  .        .        .     222 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Kin-da-shon's  Return  from   the  Yukon — Kotch-kul-ah's 

Flight 239 

CHAPTER  XX. 
A  Bit  of  History, agi 


l6o 


170 


198 


239 


^tl 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


Little  "  Chub  "  Ch-one, 


rACB 

.      264 


CHAPTER  XXn. 


On  the  Street — Sitka, 


272 


140 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


Closing  Glimpses, 


279 


.    251 


^%f 


1 


%■ 


KIN-DA-SHON'S  WIFE. 


CHAPTER    I. 


SUMMER    DAYS   IN    THE   CHTLKAT   COUNTRY. 

'npWAS  in  the  month  of  Alaska's  glory — June — when, 
■*•     waking  from  her   deep,    white  sleep,    the   natural 
world  proclaimed  the  power  of  the  resurrection  and  of 
life. 

Eight  months  earlier,  almost  before  the  harsh  nurse, 
Frost,  had  disrobed  the  flower-children  of  the  year, 
Mother  Nature  threw  about  them  her  beautiful  blanket  of 
snow,  and,  tucking  them  cozily  in,  brought  another  and 
still  others  with  which  she  raised  a  barrier  secure  against 
Winter's  warfare.  Ten,  twelve,  even  twenty  feet  beneath 
the  glistening  surface,  shut  in  to  sleep  around  their 
mother's  great  house-fire,  these  little  ones  had  slept  well. 
The  sun,  as  if  fearful  of  disturbing  their  dreams,  had 
but  occasionally  peeped  over  the  shoulder  of  Ut-undy-sha 
(Shooting  Mountain)  to  the  south,  then  quickly  disap- 
peared again  from  sight.  But,  as  May  approached,  he 
lingered  long — not  over  Undy-sha,  but,  rising  from  behind 
Sha-Gitk  to  the  northeast,  his  course  he  slowly  took 
around  the  horizon  to  Ga-sun  in  the  northwest — there 
disappearing  for  only  fo^r  hours  of  the  long  day.  A 
fortnight  of  such  shining  had  sufficed  to  awaken  the  sleep- 
ing world,  only  another  had  been  requiied  to  clothe  it  in 


lO 


KIN.DA.SirON' S    WIFE: 


tropical  beauty.  And  on  this  bright  morning  the  little 
lake  of  Chilkoot  mirrors  back  from  its  clear  face  a  sky 
warm  and  bright  and  blue,  against  which  loom  the  great 
peaks  forever  ice-crowned,  and  from  wh'ch  slide  invisibly 
the  glaciers  blue  and  cold. 

Further  down,  blending  with  the  golden  browns  and  the 
purple  of  the  granite,  lie  the  tender  yellows  of  the  sheep 
pastures,  dotted,  to  the  trained  eye,  with  flocks,  flocks 
untended  by  earthly  shepherd.  Then,  with  almost  im- 
perceptible gradations  of  color,  come  the  blue  and  black 
greens  of  the  stunted  pine  and  huckleberry-brush  — 
guarded  by  the  forests  primeval,  spruce,  hemlock,  fir,  and 
cedar;  and  mingling  with  these  their  own  lighter  and 
more  graceful  foliage  are  the  cottonwood,  wild-apple,  and 
the  alder. 

Every  limb  is  clothed  with  moss,  and  its  festoons  float 
from  pillar  to  pillar  in  this  vast  temple.  The  air  is  red- 
olent with  the  breath  of  roses,  as  the  mountain  drops  to 
the  water's  brink,  roses  as  red  and  sweet  as  ever  grew 
along  the  valley  roadways  in  the  dear  home-land,  and  far 
more  fresh  and  luxuriant.  The  sweet-pea,  whose  buds 
are  just  bursting,  creeps  over  the  brink  of  the  lake,  hiding 
full  nests  of  the  numberless  water-fowl  whose  peculiar 
call,  broken  into  a  hundred  echoes,  falls  again  in  a 
shower  of  sound  and  vanishes  amid  the  solitudes.  The 
tender  notes  of  the  robin  and  the  blue  Dird  mingle  with 
the  croak  of  the  raven  and  the  cry  of  the  eagle.  The 
cinnamon  bear  walks  fearlessly  down  the  track  of  the 
avalanche  and  feeds  upon  the  abundant  trout  of  the  noisy 
mountain  stream. 

The  village  lies  just  beyond,  nestlii  ^  at  the  foot  of  the 
great  mountain  range  that  divides  this  southeastern  strip 
of  Alaska  from  the  interior,  the  land  of  the  Gun-un-uh. 
Rushing  from  the  lake  southward  is  Chilkoot  River;  at 


i 

-i 


I 

!■?, 

5.-' 


AN  ALASKAN  STORY. 


II 


le  little 
ce  a  sky 
he  great 
nvisibly 

i  and  the 
lie  sheep 
>,  flocks 
lost  im- 
id  black 
brush  — 
fir,  and 
Iter  and 
>ple,  and 

ons  float 
ir  is  red- 
drops  to 
rer  grew 
and  far 
se  buds 
J,  hiding 
peculiar 
ain  in  a 
ts.  The 
gle  with 
e.  The 
c  of  the 
he  noisy 

ot  of  the 
ern  strip 
n-un-uh. 
Liver;  at 


'ji 

••.'■^1 


a 


this  point  scarcely  more  than  a  saucy  brook,  which,  held 
sternly  on  the  one  side  by  the  unyielding  height  of  rock, 
dashes  the  more  impetuously  over  the  lesser  barriers  and 
sends  its  white  spray  far  up  the  bank  and  into  the  face  of 
the  village,  laughing  uproariously  at  its  own  frolicking. 
Passing  the  village,  it  plunges  through  the  rapids  for 
half  a  mile  of  loveliness,  then  suddenly  widens  and  calms 
under  the  influence  of  the  sea.  The  tides  are  exacting 
teachers,  and  soon  the  rollicking  laughter  of  the  brook 
has  ceased — though  far  down  the  inlet  we  can  trace,  in 
the  midst  of  the  outgoing  tide,  the  clear,  fresh  stream. 

Soon  there  comes  another  sound — not  at  first  distin- 
guishable from  that  of  the  water  as  it  trickles  and  drips 
from  the  rocks  or  rushes  down  the  gorge — but  it  is  as 
though  all  the  sweet,  low  tones  of  nature  mingled  and 
flowed  on  together  in  rhythmic  utterance.  We  distinguish 
at  length  the  dip  of  a  paddle  "^nd  its  accompanying  canoe- 
song — low,  liquid,  and  melodious;  it  is  the  water;  now 
flowing  softly,  then  breaking  tempestuously,  pierced  now 
and  again  with  the  shriek  of  the  sea-gulls,  and  falling  to 
the  beating  of  their  wings. 

The  little  bark  advances  from  out  the  shadows  of  the 
narrow  river  course  into  the  broad,  full  light  of  the  lake, 
revealing  the  figures  of  those  who  sing.  An  old  woman 
sits  in  the  middle  of  the  canoe  making  thread  from  the 
dry  sinew  of  the  reindeer.  A  girl  of  twelve  lies  curled 
in  the  prow,  toying  dreamily  with  the  grass  and  flowers 
she  has  plucked  from  the  banks  as  the  canoe  glided  through 
the  river — she  carries  the  high,  tenor-like  soprano  of  the 
song;  her  brother,  perhaps  two  years  the  girl's  senior, 
with  his  single  paddle  both  propelling  and  guiding  the 
boat — so  leisurely  that  we  know  it  to  be  a  pleasure-party — 
occupies  the  stern.  He,  too,  is  singing;  and  under  the 
young  voices  is  the  crooning  of  the  woman: 


,'>■ ' 


xa 


KIN.DASIION'S    WIFE: 


"  Oh,  my  mother — I  am  sick!  " 

**  Where,  my  child — is  it  head  or  foot— 

The  arm  or  the  baclc  ? " 
*•  No:  my  heart,  my  heart  is  sick." 
•'  Why  is  it  sick  ?    What  is  its  ailment  ?  " 
'*  That  thou  art  gone — nowhere  can  I  find  thet 

Come  to  me — come  to  me. 
Where  art  thou,  O  my  mother  ? 

Now  e'en  thy  voice  is  lost — 

Why  did  it  mock  me  ? 
Art  thou  gone  to  the  clouds  or 
Have  the  waters  swallowed  thee  up  ? 

Surely  water  enough 

Flowed  through  our  eyes 
To  drain  dry  that  great  river — 
That  thou  mightest  pass  in  safety. 

Mother — mother  ! 

Come  to  me — come  to  me  ! 
Where  i*rt  thou  ?     My  heart  is  sick  !  " 


"Grannie,"  says  the  child,  suddenly  rousing  from  the 
dreamful  silence  which  has  followed  the  song,  dropping 
her  flowers  into  the  water  and  trailing  through  it  her 
slender  fingers — "Grannie,  when  will  our  father  come 
again  to  his  own  country?  He  told  us  he  would  tarry 
but  a  moon  and  a  half,  and  I  know  I  have  counted 
twenty." 

"Gah!  "  cries  the  boy;  "you've  counted  every  night  a 
moon!  My  father  cut  the  first  day  on  my  stick,  and  I 
have  given  it  now  just  forty  other  marks — less  one.  He 
will  bring  much  trade  if  he  is  not  on  the  mountain 
now." 

While  the  boy  was  speaking  the  old  woman  drew  from 
her  bosom  a  slender  tape  of  deer-skin,  on  which  are 
strung  a  few  beads  of  curious  design — treasures  of  Russia, 
and  some  from  "King  George's  land,"  with  other  rudely 
carved  medicine  charms  of  green  stone.      In  the  long  end 


I 


1 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


13 


which  hangs  from  the  fastening  of  this  necklace  a  number 
of  knots  have  been  tied,  and  these  she  begins  to  count: 

"One,  two,  three — that  was  the  day  the  medicine-man 
told  of  foul  weather;  four,  five — and  the  storm  came; 
six,  you  know  how  the  wind  howled,  and  Ha-nedt  was 
beaten  for  bringing  it — he  killed  a  fish  with  a  stone 
when  it  would  have  gotten  out  of  his  canoe  again;  seven, 
we  built  the  great  fires  to  appease  the  Spirit  of  the  Wind, 
so  that  our  men  might  be  able  to  cross  the  mountains; 
eight,  nine,  and  the  red  sun  had  turned  white  again,  the 
wind  was  still;  ten,  ten  and  one,  ten  and  two,  ten  and 
three,"  and  with  the  recalling  of  many  similar  incidents 
the  woman  counts  off  the  forty  knots  on  her  string.  "You 
are  right,  Kasko,"  she  says,  tucking  the  record  into  her 
bosom  again  and  resuming  her  thread-making;  "maybe 
on  the  mountain  he  is  coming  now;  on  the  morrow  he 
may  be  with  us." 

At  this  the  little  maiden  smiles  and  claps  her  hands, 
while  the  boy,  whose  paddle  has  trailed  idly  while  they 
talked,  now  takes  it  up,  and,  with  a  whoop  which  makes 
the  mountains  ring  again,  drives  it  into  the  water  with 
such  sweeping  force  as  sends  the  little  boat  bounding 
forward  with  reckless  speed. 

"Take  a  paddle,  Tashekah,"  he  cries,  "and  let  us  over 
the  lake  like  an  arrow."  Seizing  a  paddle  which  has  lain 
in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe,  the  girl  enters  the  race  with 
as  much  skill  as  her  brother,  and  with  quite  as  much 
spirit.  Their  course  seems  indeed  that  of  an  arrow,  so 
straight  and  swift  it  proves. 

Tashekah,  though  slender,  is  not  tall  for  her  age.  Her 
face  is  round  and  her  lips  and  cheeks  are  rosy-red;  the 
mouth  is  large,  with  full,  even  sets  of  teeth,  showing 
very  white  in  her  frequent  laugh.  A  silver  ring,  smooth 
and  small,  hangs  from  the  little  pug  nose,  and  each  ear  is 


14 


KIN.DA.SITON'H    WIFE: 


similarl)'  ornamented.  Her  hair,  soft,  glossy,  and  fine, 
hangs  below  her  shoulders,  and,  in  falling  unrestrained, 
almost  hides  her  low  forehead — it  is  a  black  cloud  from 
which  shine  out  big  eyes  of  wondrous  lustre;  and  these, 
except  when,  as  now,  the  face  is  filled  with  merriment, 
are  full  of  that  strange  pathos  and  pleading  which  are  so 
often  seen  in  the  eyes  of  these  Alaskan  children.  Her 
only  article  of  dress  is  a  cotton  "  slip" — a  width  and  a 
half  of  large-figured  print,  gathered  into  a  band  about 
the  neck,  and  with  straight,  full  sleeves. 

Her  brother  is  a  typical  native  boy — tall,  slender,  and 
well  formed,  supple,  active,  and  graceful.  His  face  is 
decidedly  of  the  Jewish  cast,  oval-shaped,  with  a  large, 
strong  nose,  keen  and  laughing  eyes,  a  good  forehead, 
and  closely  cropped  hair.  His  ornaments  are  more  con- 
spicuous than  his  dress,  being  the  counterparts  of  those 
adorning  Tashekah's  nose  and  ears;  but  in  addition  to 
these  he  wears  a  necklace  of  sm....  c.  d  variously  colored 
stones,  shells,  and  shark's  teeth.  The  boy's  dress  consists 
solely  of  a  blanket  or  robe  made  of  squirrel-skins  sewed 
together  with  the  sinew  thread,  and  this  he  dons  or  doffs 
at  pleasure.  It  is  his  bed,  his  cloak,  his  girdle,  or  travel- 
ling valise,  as  he  may  choose  or  require. 

The  grandmother's  garment  is  like  that  of  Tashekah's; 
but  now  about  her  waist  she  has  gathered  an  old  woollen 
blanket.  Her  face  is  furrowed  and  her  form  much  bent. 
The  hair  W  slightly  gray;  and  short,  as  though  mourning 
for  the  dead  were  not  long  past.  The  face  is  pitched  with 
black,  and  the  silver  pin  protruding  through  the  lower 
lip  glistens  more  brightly  by  contrast.  Two  sets  of  rings 
hang  in  her  ears,  one  ring  above  the  other;  and  her  nose 
ring  is  large.  The  wrinkled,  bony  hands  have  fallen  to 
her  lap  now,  and  she  pridefully  watches  the  movements 
of  the  boy,  who  for  a  moment  has  dropped  his  paddle  and 


ind  fine, 
strained, 
ud  from 
d  these, 
rriment, 
;h  are  so 
n.  Her 
K  and  a 
id  about 

der,  and 
face  is 
a  large, 
Drehead, 
3re  con- 
of  those 
ition  to 
colored 
consists 
IS  sewed 
or  doffs 
r  travel- 

lekah's; 
woollen 
h  bent, 
ourning 
led  with 
e  lower 
of  rings 
ler  nose 
illen  to 
vements 
die  and 


i-l: 


A  AT  ALASR'AM    STORY. 


«5 


cirawn  his  bow.  A  great  bald  eagle  sinks,  uncertainly,  till 
another  arrow  pierces  him  and  Tasheka  has  .-skilfully  sent 
her  boat  under  the  fallen  bird. 

Six  months  before  Tul-ga-us  had  died,  leaving  her  chil- 
dren to  the  Kog-won-ton3  (the  children  of  the  Chilkats 
and  of  all  other  Kling-get  people  belong  to  their  mother's 
tribe) ;  but  they  had,  since  her  death,  continued  to  live 
on  with  their  father,  Kah-sha,  who  loved  his  children  with 
a  great  and  tender  love. 

The  babe  of  two  days  had  not  died  with  its  mother, 
and  the  father,  yielding  it  to  others  only  to  be  suckled, 
held  the  wee  thing  in  his  own  bosom  day  and  night.  But 
ere  long,  despite  his  care,  the  feeble  spark  of  its  life 
went  out,  as  he  had  seen  it  go  from  five  other  little  ones 
before.  When  the  babe's  ashes  had  been  gathered  and 
laid  beside  its  mother's  and  those  of  her  other  dead  babes, 
Kah-sha  had  put  together  some  bits  of  cotton  print  and  a 
few  buttons — gotten  in  trade  with  more  southern  tribes — 
and  at  the  close  of  the  herring  season  joined  others  of 
his  people  going  into  the  interior  to  trade  for  furs. 

The  children  were  longing  for  his  return,  and  spent  the 
time  rambling  about  the  woods,  or,  as  now,  with  their 
grannie  on  the  water.  This  day  has  been  beguiled  with 
song,  story-tf.lling,  and  spearing  fish,  so  that  the  sun  has 
almost  completed  his  long  day's  journey  when  they  turn 
their  faces  southward,  and,  having  entered  the  river,  trail 
paddles  until  the  current  has  borne  them  to  the  village. 
And  now,  leaving  his  robe  where  he  sat,  Kasko  dives  into 
the  water,  and,  reappearing  in  a  moment,  draws  the  canoe 
to  shore,  where  with  Tashekah's  ready  help  it  is  soon 
landed,  overturned,  and  covered  with  the  heavy  grass 
which  grows  so  rankly  on  the  bank. 

Following  the  almost  hidden  path,  so  overhung  with 
the  spring  blooms,  the"  nass  the  fish-traps  and  enter  the 


x6 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


broader  and  more  beaten  way  between  the  long  row  of 
native  houses  which  face  the  river,  and  the  great,  close-set 
drying-racks  on  its  bank,  which  in  salmon-time  become 
a  flaming  spectacle,  hung  as  they  then  are  with  the  brill- 
iant-colored fish.  Lower  down,  in  the  river  itself,  stand 
the  guard-stakes  of  the  fish  gardens.  Each  family  has  its 
own,  i;  nerited  through  generations,  and  guarded  as  jeal- 
ously as  ever  crown  was  held  by  royal  heir  or  hunting 
field  by  the  buffalo  lovers  of  the  plains.  That  one  man 
had  taken  fish  from  between  the  stakes  of  another  would 
be  cause  enough  for  bloodshed,  and  has  more  than  once 
wrought  serious  mischief  among  the  people. 

The  population,  as  usual  through  the  summer,  has 
turned  out  of  doors,  and  the  way  is  thronged.  There  are 
huddling  groups  of  women — many  with  no  other  employ- 
ment than  that  of  nursing  the  babies  in  their  arms  and 
gossiping  quietly  with  those  whose  busy  fingers  fly  deftly 
in  and  out  among  the  fine  grasses  of  their  basket- weaving. 
A  few  men  lie  stretched  out  here  and  there  silently  smok- 
ing, while  the  children  and  the  dogs,  playing  hide-and- 
seek,  dash  about  and  around  with  laughter  and  clatter  un- 
restrained, except  as  they  too  nearly  approach  their  elders. 

Our  little  party,  with  friendly,  common  interests,  moves 
but  slowly  through  the  chatting  crowd.  Before  they  have 
reached  their  own  house  a  shout  goes  up  announcing  the 
appearance  of  a  canoe  just  making  the  turn  in  the  rapidj 
below. 

Alertly  the  men,  without  removing  their  pipes,  turn 
over  and  raise  themselves  upon  their  elbows.  The  women 
sit  still,  but  cease  their  talking  to  look  in  the  direction  of 
the  new-comers.  Only  the  children,  with  the  dogs  at  their 
heels,  go  yelling  and  yelping  down  to  the  landing-place. 

Kasko,  at  the  first  cry,  has  flung  from  him  every  im- 
pediment, and  speeds  as  a  deer  toward  the  stream. 


AN  ALASKAM   STORY, 


il 


CHAPTER   II. 


RETURN   OF   THE    TRADING    PARTY. 


'T^HE  river  Chilkat  is  separated  from  that  of  Chilkoot 
-'■  by  the  Chilkat  country,  which  takes  the  form  of  a 
peninsula  by  the  southward  flowing  together  of  these 
streams  (forming  Lynn  Channel)  twenty-five  or  thirty 
miles  below  Chilkoot  Lake.  At  first  the  separation 
is  wide  and  mountainous,  but  at  Da-shu,  or  Half-trail, 
fifteen  miles  from  the  point,  the  Chilkoot  shore  is  in- 
dented by  a  lovely  bay,  and  the  land  drops  into  beautiful 
and  fertile  meadows,  threaded  with  bright  little  streams 
and  belted  with  dark  forests.  Crossing  here  is  the  trail, 
or  portage,  less  than  a  mile  from  river  to  river,  over 
which  canoes  are  carried  to  avoid  the  thirty  miles'  journey 
around  the  point  of  the  peninsula  in  passing  from  the 
eastern  to  the  western  villages. 

The  Chilkoot  people  are  also  Chilkats;  their  village 
lying  on  the  west  shore  of  Chilkoot  River,  while  the  three 
Chilkat  villages  are  on  the  eastern  shore  of  the  broader 
river.  These  four  are  the  permanent  settlements  of  the 
Chilkat  country.  There  are  also  several  less  substantially 
built  places  occupied  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year  for 
fishing  and  hunting. 

Each  permanent  village  has  its  chiefs.  The  Chilkats, 
in  common  with  other  Kling-get  tribes,  are  divided  into 
two  distinct  families,  who  intermarry  with  each  other  and 
cannot  marry  among  themselves;  who  compliment  each 
other  in  feasts  and  fight  against  each  other  in  war.  In 
fact,  the  tribal  family  is  bound  together  with  far  closer 


'■&^' 


tS 


km-DA-SHON" S    WIFE: 


and  more  rigid  laws  than  any  which  protect  the  private 
domestic  relation.  Husbands  and  wives,  among  all 
Kling-get  tribes,  must  be  of  opposite  families.  The  chil- 
dren always  belong  to  their  mother's  family,  so  that  they 
ure,  by  law,  nothing  to  their  father.  Should  the  family 
of  the  father  be  at  war  with  that  of  the  mother,  regard- 
less of  personal  feeling  the  children  must  enter  the  lists 
against  their  father.  Children  may  marry  their  own 
father's  brother,  or  their  own  mother's  father — they  are 
not  related  by  their  law — but  to  marry  one  of  their  own 
tribe-family,  though  blood  relation  were  untraceable,  the 
shame  would  be  past  blotting  out. 

In  the  Chilkat  country  these  two  great  families  are 
known  as  the  Klee-qua-hutte  and  the  Kog-won-ton.  To 
the  former  belong  the  clans  represented  by  their  totems, 
the  raven,  the  sea-gull,  and  many  others. 

Among  the  Kog-won-tons  are  the  Cinnamon  Bear,  Eagle, 
Petrel,  Wolf,  Whale,  and  so  on.  In  each  village  are 
members  of  both  families  and  of  almost  every  clan.  The 
northernmost  settlement  on  the  Chilkat  River  is  Klok- 
won.  Its  chief  is  a  Kog-won-ton,  of  the  Bear  clan. 
Klok-won  being  the  largest  of  the  four  villages  and  its 
chief  the  richest  of  all  the  chiefs,  the  Bears  rank  highest 
in  caste  among  the  Chilkat  people. 

The  village  Kut-wulh-too  is  but  two  miles  south  of 
Klok-won,  yet  it  is  under  the  chiefs  of  Yhin-da-stachy, 
twenty  miles  or  more  to  the  south.  From  this  latter  place 
the  river  is  followed  by  a  trail  for  three  or  four  miles, 
which  then  strikes  the  portage.  Chilkoot  River  becomes 
the  Inlet  when  it  is  joined  by  the  Dy-ya,  at  a  short  dis- 
tance above  Portage  Bay.  Dy-ya  is  the  water-front  of  the 
great  interior. 

Even  while  his  children  were  speaking  of  him  on  the 
lake,  Kah-sha  and  his  companions  were  descending  the 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


19 


precipitous  mountain  trail  at  Dy-ya's  head.  Very  profit- 
able had  been  their  expedition,  and  their  packs  were  large 
and  heavy.  But  even  now,  after  days  of  toiling  through 
stream,  forest,  and  snow,  scaling  cliff  and  descending 
gulch,  where  a  misstep  would  be  fatal,  their  burdens  are 
borne  with  a  certain  dignity  which  proclaims  the  bearers 
men  of  spirit  and  of  great  endurance. 

What  if  shoulders  are  g-Jled — the  trail  is  no  becoming 
place  for  the  mention  of  it. 

As  in  single  file  they  are  coming  down  the  pass  we  have 
an  opportunity  for  more  particular  notice.  The  ^.acks 
are  n.ade  up  square  and  tied  securely  with  ropes  made  of 
dressed  reindeer  skin,  of  which  slender  strips  are  braided 
together.  Into  this  rope  are  fastened  the  carved  bone 
pins  of  the  pack  straps — a  strap  made  from  the  hide  of  a 
young  deer's  shank,  tanned  and  finished  with  the  hair  side 
out;  it  is  two  or  three  inches  wide  and  from  one  and  a 
half  to  two  feet  long,  worn  on  the  forehead  to  raise  the 
burden  high  on  the  shoulders,  or,  corresponding  to  the 
breast  strap  of  a  harness,  across  the  breast  and  over  the 
shoulders.  In  this  way  a  Chilkat  man  will  carry  the  av- 
erage pack  of  a  hundred  pounds  every  day  in  the  week, 
making  from  six  to  twenty  miles  a  day,  according  to  the 
character  of  the  trail. 

There  are  fifteen  men  in  the  party,  great  stalwart  fel- 
lows; and,  with  somewhat  lighter  packs,  several  boys 
from  twelve  to  sixteen  years  of  age,  to  whom  this  has 
been  the  initiatory  of  Gun-un-uh  trading.  One  of  the 
older  lads  leads  the  file,  now  that  they  are  on  familiar 
ground,  and  now  and  again  he  proudly  shouts  back  to  his 
companions,  as  the  view  rapidly  narrows  down  to  the  lit- 
tle valley  they  are  entering  and  he  recognizes  each  rock 
and  tree.  It  is  Kin-da-shon,  a  high-class  Raven  of  the 
village  Klok-won. 


20 


KIN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


Immediately  following  him  is  a  young  man  of  twenty, 
whose  physique,  even  among  so  many  of  fine  proportions, 
is  striking.  His  mouth  is  smiling,  but  his  eyes,  though 
singularly  keen  and  intelligent,  are  strangely  sad  in  ex- 
pression— Klune  is  deaf  and  dumb.  He  is  the  only  son 
of  aged  Toots  and  his  old  wife,  of  Yhin-da-stachy. 
Klune  is  bearing  the  pack  of  his  old  chief  Kood-wot,  who 
is  close  behind  him.  Then  follow  Ka-kee,  the  medicine- 
man, Tum-tum  the  dwarf,  and,  near  the  latter  end  of  the 
line,  Kah-sha,  whom  his  children  await  so  eagerly. 

There  is  a  roaring  of  water  now  distinctly  heard,  and, 
with  a  sudden  turn  of  the  little  path,  they  have  reached 
the  bank  of  the  torrent.  Kin-da-chon  has  come  upon  it 
with  a  bound  and  a  whoop. 

Sitting  down  he  speedily  throws  himself  back,  slips  the 
strap  over  his  head,  and  springs  upon  the  shoulders  of 
Klune,  who  as  quickly,  though  silently,  has  freed  him- 
self from  his  burden,  and  they  roll  together  over  and  over 
on  the  fresh  green  and  fragrant  swaiJ;  the  shouting 
laughter  of  the  boy  more  than  matched  by  the  ludicrous 
antics  and  perfectly  intelligible  signs  of  the  mute. 

Very  soon  all  the  packs  are  on  the  ground,  and  for  a 
few  moments  the  older  men  rest  upon  theirs — having  first 
lighted  their  pipes.  No  time  is  to  be  lost,  as  the  staple 
food  of  the  party — dried  fish — is  gone.  The  boys  are  eat- 
ing with  relish  the  wild  carrots  and  rice  abounding  every- 
where. The  younger  men  busy  themselves  with  the 
canoes,  v/hich  have  lain  here  in  perfect  security  during 
their  absence,  simply  turned  bottom  up,  the  paddles  un- 
derneath, and,  to  protect  them  from  the  sun,  all  covered 
over  with  brush  and  grass. 

The  dress  of  the  travellers^  with  the  exception  of  the 
shirt,  is  removed  fcr  the  passage  through  the  rapids. 
The   garment   laid    aside    is  a   combination,   shoes   and 


-m 


the 
thre 
moT 
aga 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


31 


■1 


pantaloons  in  one,  made  from  tanned  deerskin,  and  in 
some  cases  beautifully  embroidered  with  beads,  porcupine 
quills,  and  the  strong  inner  bark  of  the  cedar,  colored  with 
dyes  obtained  from  mosses,  grass,  ferns,  and  bark  of  differ- 
ent kinds.  The  winter  shirt  is  similar  in  style  and  ma- 
terial; but  this  is  often  laid  aside  for  one  of  print,  or 
one  made  up  of  the  precious  pot-latch  pieces  of  blankets 
torn  and  distributed  among  the  guests  at  the  feasts  for 
the  dead;  and  the  garment  is  valuable  according  to  the 
number  and  variety  of  pieces  in  its  composition. 

The  canoes  are  soon  filled  and  floated;  one  only  is 
bound  for  Chilkoot,  and  Kah-sha  is  its  experienced  cap- 
tain. He  stands  to  the  waist  in  the  icy  water,  staying 
the  frail  boat  with  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  holding  a 
pole  ready  to  spring  in  and  be  off,  when  Kin-da-shon, 
hastening  by  him  to  his  own  canoe,  throws  over  his  head 
the  beaded  ribbon  of  a  small  embroidered  leathern  pouch, 
of  Gun-un-uh  work,  with  the  whispered  words,  "  Give  it 
to  Tashekah;"  and  the  boat,  like  an  arrow  shot  from 
some  strong  bow,  is  given  to  the  current.  All  native  in- 
stinct, of  sight  and  touch  and  sound,  is  required  for  her 
safe  piloting  between  the  rocks  and  the  sand-bars.  Often 
as  she  grazes  the  sand  the  man  is  in  the  water  and  as  in- 
stantly in  the  boat  again,  pole  in  hand,  guiding  her  un- 
hindered course  with  utmost  skill  and  coolness  among 
obstacles  which,  striking,  would  have  proved  the  wreck- 
ing or  his  craft. 

Four  miles  of  this  exciting  race  brings  them  into  the 
smooth,  broad  waters  of  the  Dy-ya,  and  now  sails  are 
raised  to  a  favoring  wind,  and  the  little  fleet  soon  passes 
the  sixteen  miles  to  Chilkoot  Point.  Separating  here, 
three  canoes  pass  southward  to  the  portage.  The  other 
moves  to  the  north  into  the  river  with  paddles  at  work 
against  the  rapid  current. 


23 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


The  narrow  passage  is  already  in  twilight  from  the 
close  height  of  the  mountain,  when  suddenly,  in  the 
clearer  light  just  beyond,  they  see  the  village  lying  in  its 
old-time  quiet.  And  then  is  heard  the  shout  of  the  vil- 
lagers themselves,  who  have  already  discovered  their 
approach. 


.-«*= 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY, 


23 


n  the 
n  the 
in  its 
le  vil- 
their 


CHAPTER   III. 


KAII-SHA  S    HOME-ING. 


HTHERE  is  a  smile  on  the  grave  face  of  Kah-sha  as  he 
recognizes  the  forms  of  his  children  dancing  on  the 
bank.  He  does  not  join  in  the  song  of  his  companions,  but 
the  whole  village  answers  it  in  a  chant  of  welcome,  and 
the  dogs  seem  mad  in  their  sympathetic  demonstrations. 

Already  Kasko  is  in  the  water,  diving  and  shouting. 
Only  a  few  more  dips  of  their  paddles  and  he  has  seized 
the  end  of  the  canoe.  The  men  spring  out,  and  with  thair 
peculiar  "  Ooh-ooh — o-o-oohI"the  boat  is  landed  clear 
at  the  top  of  the  bank. 

Words  of  greeting  are  few  or  wanting  altogether.  Not 
a  woman  moves  from  her  place;  the  men,  who  have  idly 
watched  the  landing,  now  as  leisurely  raise  themselves  to 
[a  sitting  posture,  doubling  their  legs  under  them,  or, 
raising  their  knees,  clasp  their  arms  about  them  and  con- 
tinue to  smoke  in  silence. 

Between  Kasko  and  his  father  not  a  word  is  spoken. 
The  boy  has  dragged  his  father's  pack  from  the  boat,  and, 
throwing  himself  down,  adjusts  the  strap  to  his  forehead. 
His  attempt  to  rise  with  the  burden  is  only  successful 
when,  unperceived  by  him,  his  father,  who  has  looked  on 
with  affectionate  pride,  helps  him  to  raise  it.  Then,  bent 
almost  double  under  its  weight,  the  boy  runs  up  the  rude, 
strong  steps,  and  in  through  the  circular  opening — the 
doorway  of  the  house  they  call  "ours."  In  a  moment  he 
reappears  at  the  top  of  the  steps,  and  with  a  single  hand- 
spring is  at  his  father's  side.     Kah-sha  has  already  turned 


24 


KTN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


to  enter  the  house;  Tashekah,  with  his  blanket  about  her 
neck,  walks  beside  him,  thoroughly  enjoying  the  tri- 
umphal procession.  For  now,  eager  to  hear  and  see  the 
home-comers,  and  to  share  in  both  the  providing  for  and 
the  eating  of  the  generous  supper,  so  much  needed  by  the 
travellers,  the  crowd  follows  Kah-sha  and  his  companions 
into  the  great,  hospitable  house. 

Boys,  with  Kasko  at  their  head,  run  for  wood;  and  the 
great  fire  which  soon  blazes  upon  the  square  of  earth  in 
the  centre  of  the  house  proves  very  grateful  as  the  even- 
ing grows  cclder.  -Tashekah,  too,  goes  out,  but  soon,  as 
her  father  sits  by  the  fire  which  sends  ruddy  light  into  the 
remotest  corner  of  the  dark  old  house,  she  comes  and 
lays  before  him  an  armful  of  yan-a-ate,  the  delicious 
wild  celery  of  Alaska.  In  appearance  it  resembles  the 
long  stems  of  pumpkin  leaves,  but  when  the  skin  is  drawn, 
as  is  that  of  rhubarb  for  the  table,  it  is  tender  and  pleas- 
ant to  the  taste.  With  this  and  a  few  dried  herring  from 
the  early  spring's  curing,  the  men  stay  themselves  until 
the  more  substantial  food  shall  be  prepared. 

The  women  are  busy  about  this  task.  Water  is  brought 
from  the  river  flowing  by,  in  baskets  woven  so  close,  from 
the  inner  bark  of  the  cedar,  as  to  be  water-tight,  and  in 
these  are  placed  the  stones  which  have  been  heating  in 
the  heart  of  the  fire.  The  fish  which  the  children  brought 
from  the  lake  are  cut  into  pieces  and  dropped  into  the 
now  boiling  water  of  one  basket,  while  another  is  used  for 
cooking  the  dried  fish-eggs  which  are  such  a  delicacy  to 
the  native. 

The  eagle,  of  Kasko's  killing,  is  also  required.  The 
head  and  talons  only  are  removed  from  the  feathered 
body.  Hot  ashes  are  then  drawn  out  a  little  from  the  fire 
and  the  great  bird  is  laid  on  this  roasting  bed,  heaped 
over  with  a  thick  covering  of  the  same  material. 


■  >■.;,; 


^■>M 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


25 


Long,  slender  rnasting-sticks  are  whittled  off  afresh, 
run  through  the  bodies  of  many  dried  **  small-fish,"  and 
stuck  into  the  ground  against  the  plank  floor,  leaning 
toward  the  generous  blaze. 

At  length  the  supper  is  cooked  and  ready  to  serve,  and 
now  small  carved  dishes  of  wood  and  bone  are  brought 
out  with  fish  oil;  carved  trays  for  the  crisply  toasted  dried 
fish  are  placed  beside  them.  The  fish  is  broken  into  bits, 
and  dipped  as  eaten  into  the  oil — just  as  children  some- 
times eat  molasses  with  their  bread.  Then  follow  the 
boiled  fish-eggs,  and  the  fresh  fish  cooked  to  soup  and 
served  in  great  carved  boxes — carved  horn  spoons  with 
them.  There  is  a  spoon  for  each  person,  but  a  box  for 
as  many  as  can  help  themselves  from  it,  as  the  spoons 
contain  an  ordinary  plateful.  The  carvings  on  dishes 
and  spoons  represent  the  clans,  and  their  intermarriages 
are  indicated  by  the  grotesque  mingling  of  raven,  wolf, 
and  other  totems. 

After  this  second  course  comes  the  grand  final"",  The 
eagle  is  taken  from  his  ash  oven.  The  entrails  being  first 
removed,  the  feathers  with  the  skin  are  turned  back,  ex- 
posing the  white,  juicy  meat;  and  this,  as  a  last  course,  is 
served — in  the  fingers! 

During  the  supper,  of  which  all  partake  with  hearty 
zest,  Tashekah  has  kept  close  beside  her  father — his  arm 
encircling  her  as  she  leans  against  him.  Often  she  lifts 
her  eyes  to  his,  and  is  fondly  petted  in  answer  to  her  look 
of  affection. 

At  the  close  of  the  meal — without  looking  up — she  asks 
in  a  low  tone:  "Were  you  well,  my  father?" 

"Yes,  child;  why  do  you  ask  me  that?" 

"And  did  no  evil  touch  you?" 

"None  that  I  wot  of,  Tashekah,  none  but  the  evil  ever 
present  with  me.    But  say,'\yhat  filled  your  heart  with  me  ? " 


26 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


"O  father! — the  words  are  hard  coming — I  know  not 
how  to  tell  you  all  that  has  made  my  heart  sick  about 
you;  even  Kasko  could  not  understand,  and  to  grannie  I 
dare  tell  nothing,  for  she  frightens  me  more.  But  the 
people  are  hearing  us,  and  I  cannot  speak." 

The  last  sentence  has  been  uttered  in  a  whisper  so  low 
that  not  even  those  nearest  them  at  the  dish  could  dis- 
tinguish the  words. 

A  pair  of  evil  eyes  are  on  the  girl;  indeed,  that  they 
have  been  so  riveted  on  her  has  been  the  cause  of  her 
disturbance  and  the  abrupt  close  of  the  conversation.  It 
is  Yealh-neddy,  one  of  the  young  men  who  have  returned 
with  her  father.  He  is  not  more  than  twenty  years  old, 
as  we  count  life  here,  but  he  is  older  than  that  in  vice, 
and  a  gambler.  Of  the  Ravens,  he  was  born  in  the  upper 
Chilkat  village,  Klok-won,  but  from  village  to  village  he 
moves  about,  as  a  buzzard  follows  prey.  Yealh-neddy 
was  a  witness  of  the  hurried  act  of  young  Kin-da-shon  at 
the  launching  of  their  canoe,  and,  even  without  the  whis- 
pered word  which  he  did  not  catch,  read  more  of  the  truth 
than  any  one  else  suspected. 

Small  matter  as  the  preference  of  a  child  might  seem, 
it  was  enough  to  prompt  this  evil  nature  to  thwart  it. 
His  quick  eye  has  now  detected  the  postponement  of 
Kah-sha's  talk  with  his  daughter,  and  with  a  coarse  laugh 
he  addresses  her: 

"/would  give  much  for  such  an  interview,  Tashekah. 
Nehl  but  you  would  make  a  fine  friend!  " 

The  tenderness  has  vanished  from  the  child's  face,  and 
her  eyes  are  fixed  upon  the  man  with  terror  and  a  sud- 
den hate  till  he  has  finished;  then,  with  an  expression  of 
despairing  appeal,  she  raises  them  to  the  face  of  her 
father. 

Yealh-neddy's  remark  was  made  in  so  loud  a  voice  that 


fej 


AM  ALASKAN'   STORY, 


a; 


its  fellows  arc  called  out  from  not  only  other  young  men, 
but  from  fathers  and  mothers  of  other  girls,  seated  about 
the  fire. 

Kah-sha  speaks  not  a  word,  but  as  his  eyes  rest  on  Ta- 
shckah  their  sadness  deepens.  Kasko's  anger  always 
burns  when  his  sister  is  treated  with  the  familiarity  com- 
mon among  the  people,  but  to-night  he  restrains  all  ex- 
pression of  it,  except  that  his  face  assumes  a  suspicious 
sharpness,  and  his  tone  is  unnatural  and  peremptory  as  he 
demands  rather  than  asks: 

"  Father,  may  I  see  your  pack  ? " 

As  he  speaks  he  draws  it  into  the  light  of  the  fire,  and 
Tashekah  springs  to  her  feet  with  lively  interest,  her 
shadow  for  a  time  disappearing. 

"You  both  7i'///see  it,  I  think,"  the  father  says  with  an 
indulgent  smile,  and  the  many-knotted  rope  soon  lies  in 
a  smooth,  even  coil  beside  him. 

With  the  fur  folded  in,  there  are  the  "  skins "  he  has 
traded  for.  The  foxes,  silver,  black,  and  red;  black  and 
cinnamon  bear;  lynx  skins  and  otter.  Then  comes  a 
leather  suit  of  wonderful  Gun-un-uh  work,  and  a  pair  of 
dainty  beaded  moccasins  for  Tashekah. 

The  pouch  given  him  by  Kin-da-shon  has  been  con- 
cealed within  the  bosom  of  his  shirt ;  even  now  he  does  not 
bring  it  out. 

The  other  packs  have  been  opened  also,  and  the  skins 
are  passed  about  from  hand  to  hand,  remarked  upon,  crit- 
icised, and  praised. 

"Will  you  be  going  south  to  trade  them?"  grannie  asks 
of  Kah-sha. 

"Yes,  when  this  moon  is  half  full,"  he  answers. 

"O  father,  let  me  go  with  you!  "  Kasko  cries. 

"  Not  this  time,  my  son ;  your  first  trip  must  be  with  me, 
after   this   year's   snows,    into   the    Gun-un-uh    country. 


28 


KIN-DA. SHON'S    WIFE: 


When  you  have  learned  to  trade  there,  you  shall  go  to  the 
south  people." 

"  But  were  you  ever  there  before  ? " 

•'To  the  far  south?  yes,  once;  when  my  life  was  new. 
They  were  a  wild,  wicked  people  then — not  as  the  poor 
Gun-un-uh  are  wild,  but  they  drank  a  kind  of  medicine 
that  gave  them  bodies  like  beasts  and  thoughts  like 
devils." 

"Ah,  ah!"  Yealh-neddy  breaks  in,  "and  they  have 
plenty  of  it  yet — my  heart  burns  for  it  now.  Crows  and 
ravens!  what  dreams  it  gives  a  man!  what  sights  it  makes 
him  see!"  And  the  evil  eyes  roll,  the  sensual  lips  are 
smacked  with  the  recollection  of  an  intoxication  in  the 
past. 

"  Do  they  gamble,  Neddy?"  asks  Tool-chun,  one  of  the 
fathers  who  have  been  chafifing  with  the  fellow. 

"You  might  be  sure  he  wouldn't  like  them  so  well  if  he 
hadn't  got  the  best  of  them,"  sharply  put  in  his  angry 
daughter,  Sha-hehe,  a  tall,  thin  girl  of  fifteen,  who  sits 
well  back  from  the  fire  wiping  some  of  the  supper  boxes 
and  smarting  still  from  the  chaff. 

"Speak  when  you're  spoken  to,  will  you,  girl!  Hold 
your  tongue  till  it's  wanted!  "  snarls  her  mother — a  hard- 
faced  woman  made  hideous  by  the  face  paint  of  black, 
streaked  w'th  rv;d. 

"  What  a  wildcat  that  girl  is!  Why  don't  you  shut  her 
up  or  get  her  married?"  growls  one  of  the  household. 

"She  won't  siay  shut  up,  and  no  man  with  his  sense  in 
his  head  would  have  her,"  the  woman  answers. 

"The  raven  take  your  sense,  and  give  me  the  girl!" 
cries  Yealh-neddy. 

There  are  but  few  in  the  party  who  do  not  join  in  the 
laugh  which  follows  this  remark, 

Sha-hehe   had  assumed  a  stubborn,    downcast  silence 


A/v   ALASKAN   STORY. 


29 


IV. 


during  the  talk  which  had  passed,  but  as  the  young  repro- 
bate spoke  she  stood  up  with  flowing  eyes,  the  dish 
she  has  been  wiping  still  in  her  hand,  and,  when  the 
laugh  has  broken  forth,  with  all  the  savage  young  might 
of  her  nature  she  hurls  it  into  his  face  with  the  impre- 
cation, "  May  a//-m/  take_)w//"  and  speeds  out  of  the 
house,  nor  stops  till,  breathless  and  terror-stricken,  she 
finds  that  in  the  blindness  of  her  angry  flight  she  has  taken 
the  path  to  the  dead-houses. 

Not  daring  to  retrace  her  steps,  she  shrinks  weakly 
down  in  the  shadow  she  has  reached.  It  is  that  of  a  dead 
medicine-man's  house — where  his  body  lies,  and  from 
which  emanates  the  power  of  witchcraft. 

Kasko  had  watched  Sha-hehe  with  peculiar  interest; 
for  his  sister's  sake  he  hated  Yealh-neddy,  and  as  the 
girl  had  stood  up  in  her  wrath,  there  seemed  to  him  a 
terrible  grandeur  in  her  height  and  loneliness.  It  was  in 
watching  her  thus,  and  through  the  power  of  his  sym- 
pathy, that  he  instinctively  foresaw  her  violence  toward 
Yealh-neddy,  and  as  she  raised  her  arm  with  such  des- 
perate purpose,  he,  with  movement  as  swift,  flung  a  heavy 
bear-skin  over  the  ruffian's  head,  thus  saving  the  face 
scar  which  would  have  cost  Sha-hehe's  life. 

Instantly  Yealh-neddy  dashed  the  skin  aside,  and 
sprang  to  his  feet  as  though  to  follow  the  wretched  girl; 
then  turning,  with  muttered  curses  and  threats  of  ven- 
geance on  her,  he  took  his  blanket,  drew  it  over  his  head 
and  face — a  common  expression  of  "great  shame,"  that 
is,  anger — and  sat  back  against  the  hewn  planks  of  the 
house  wall,  with  his  ugly  face  between  his  updrawn 
knees. 

For  some  time  there  was  bedlam  among  the  forty  in- 
mates of  the  dwelling.  Such  an  affair  as  this  was  per- 
sonal to  every  one;  each  had  much  to  say  and  none  could 


30 


KIN-DA-STTOITS    WIFE: 


wait  for  another,  but  raised  voice  the  higher  to  be  heard. 
Children  were  roused  from  their  sleep  by  the  noise  and 
added  their  cries  to  the  uproar.  But  gradually  the  storm 
spent  itself,  and  at  length  there  were  preparations  for 
the  night.  In  most  cases  a  single  blanket  or  skin  served 
for  a  bed  and  its  covering. 

The  native  house,  with  but  few  exceptions,  has  but  the 
single  room,  the  open  fire  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment, 
and  in  this  house  are  gathered  just  as  many  persons  as  it 
will  hold.  It  is  occupied  promiscuously — adults  and 
children  of  both  serr^^s  and  of  every  age  make  their  beds 
thus  upon  the  floor,  their  heads  against  the  walls  and 
their  feet  all  turned  toward  the  fire.  In  a  few  instances 
a  '.emporary screen  maybe  put  up  by  one  sensitive  enough 
to  shrink  and  bold  enough  to  dare. 

To-night  Kah-sha  takes  his  blanket,  and  making  it  fast 
to  his  canoe-pole  raises  it  acioss  a  small  corner  of  the 
room.  Into  this  retreat  he  tucks  Tashekah,  then  placing 
before  it  the  thick  woolly  skin  of  a  mountain-sheep,  lays 
himself  down  for  the  night,  even  more  weary  in  mind 
than  in  body — too  weary  to  do  aught  but  travel  again  the 
endless  way  his  thoughts  so  often  take. 

**  How  is  it  that  the  world  is  so  full  of  trouble — so  dark  ? 
Whv°re  is  there  light?  What /j  light?  I  cannot  tell.  It 
is  something  which  I  cannot  find.  When  a  little  child  of 
my  own  came  first  to  my  arms  I  thought,  'He  has  come 
from  the  light — for  be  brings  me  some. '  Then  he  sickened 
and  died,  almost  as  soon  as  he  came — from  light  he  fell 
to  darkness,  and  viy  night  was  thicker  than  before — and 
more  than  th:»t!  into  its  thickness  had  come  a  being — seen 
for  a  little,  now  unseen!  It  mocked  me — whence  did  this 
life  come?  Whither  now  has  it  gone?  What  is  life? 
Has  it  gone?  or  where  does  it  linger?  With  what 
wretched  eagerness  I  flung  the  blankets  and  food  on  that 


"^ 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


31 


child's  burning  ashes — that,  if  he  should  vs^.td  them  as  my 
people  believe,  or  could  get  them  in  that  way,  he  might 
have  all  the  comfort  I  could  give  him.  But  what  torture 
I  have  in  thought!  Why  does  it  not  leave  me  I  Why 
should  a  man  have  eyes  in  a  land  where  there  is  no  sun! 
O  Raven,  if  thou  be  God — but  no,  he  is  a  god  of  evil! 
dwelling  in  pitch  darkness  under  the  earth — bearing  its 
weight  on  his  evil  wings  till  that  day  when  he  shall 
choose  to  fly  away  croaking  over  its  destruction — what  a 
God!  Till  that  great  day  he  amuses  himself  with  the 
sufferings  of  man.  He  is  easily  angered,  and  must  be 
constantly  appeased  and  coaxed  to  bear  us  up  a  little 
longer!  Do  I  not  believe  this?  Why  then  do  I  tremble 
with  fear  when  the  earth  shakes  only  a  little?  Why  do  I 
expect  evil  when  the  i.iedicine-priest  foretells  it?  Do  I 
believe?  I  cannot  tell.  Oh,  light — light!  must  I  die  in 
this  black  gulf  v/hy  does  the  sun  shine  but  to  mock 
me?  Why  do  flowers  grow  beside  the  thorns  and  fruit 
among  the  thistles?  Why  do  the  birds  sing  and  the 
waters  laugh?  Oh,  if  I  could  but  know!  What  is  it 
that  sometimes  comes  to  my  heart  like  the;  blue  of  the 
morning,  telling  of  a  coming  day — speaking  faintly  of 
things  sweet  to  think  of  but  cruel  to  hope  for — telling 
me  that  what  is  sweet  and  beautiful  in  the  world  is  the 
work  of  another  spirit  ?  That  there  may  be  somewhere, 
somewhere,  light — in  which  flowers  may  blossom  and  birds 

may  sing  in  men's  hearts?     O  my  Tashekah " 

"Father."  The  whispered  call  is  so  low  that  it  would 
scarcely  have  disturbed  the  passionate  revery  of  the  man 
had  there  not  accompanied  it  the  touch  of  a  little  hand 
which  has  found  its  way  out  to  him  under  the  blanket 
screen.  Kah-sha  holds  it  for  a  moment,  then  presses  it 
to  his  lips.  At  the  same  time  Tashekah  carefully  raises 
the  blanket  a  little  higher,  and  putting  her  arm  about  her 


32 


KIN-DA-SIION'S    WIFE: 


father's  neck  draws  his  head  closer  to  her  own — allowing 
the  curtain  to  fall  down  about  his  breast. 

"  Father,  I  heard  you  speak  my  name  ever  so  low;  then 
I  knew  you  were  not  sleeping,  and  I  was  glad,  for  I  had 
waited  long  to  know  and  my  heart  was  tired." 

With  a  sigh  the  man  strives  to  put  away  his  own  sad- 
ness, saying,  "And  what  did  my  little  night-bird  want?" 

"Oh,  my  heart  is  so  hungry,  father;  all  the  people  are 
bad  medicine — only  you  and  Kasko  are  food  to  me." 

'''All  the  people  bad  medicine?  0/ily  I  and  Kasko?" 
queries  the  father  lightly,  and  now  he  draws  from  his 
bosom  the  embroidered  pouch.  Putting  it  into  her  hand 
he  says:  "  There,  mj'  child,  it  was  a  true  youtij;  leo  '"-at 
sent  it  to  you.  You  must  let  him  stand  at  -ca.v.  with 
Kasko;  and  the  time  must  come — it  may  not  be  far  off — 
when  you  will  need  such  a  friend  as  I  know  he  wants  to 
be." 

"What!  father,  has  Kin-da-shon  spoken  to  you? — and 
about — me?" 

"I  will  tell  you  all,  Tashekah.  It  was  ten  days  ago; 
we  were  on  the  high  mountain;  our  way  had  been  up  and 
up,  until  that  day  there  was  no  night  at  all  The  sun 
went  all  around  the  sky  and  hardly  sat  down  or  slept  at 
all.  Of  Durse  the  older  men  had  seen  it  often  before, 
but  Kin-da-shon  never.  He  stood  and  looked,  as  the  tim- 
for  night  came,  and  looked  as  if  his  eyes  were  fasteneo. 
I  spoke  to  him  at  last,  for  we  two  sto  1  alone  together, 
and,  with  trying  very  hard,  he  turned  from  the  strange 
sun  to  me  and  said:  'I  did  forget  that  the  Gun-un-uh  sun 
was  so,  and  it  stole  upon  me;  but' — and  his  face  was 
beautiful  as  he  slowly  said  it — 'but  I  thinV  the  sun  in 
my  own  country  would  shin'^  like  that  i.'  '  juld  some 
time  have  your  little  Tashekah  formy  wife. '  'Is  y(.-ur 
father's  heart  for  this?'   I  asked  him;    and  he  said,  '.• 


AM   ALASKAN   STORY. 


Zl 


g 


cannot  tell — I  have  not  spoken  to  him  yet;  but  I  love 
her,  Kah-sha,  and  if  I  know  your  heart  I  will  talk  with 
my  father  and  mother  that  they  may  speak  with  you,  and 
by  and  by  call  the  friends  for  council." 

O  my  father,  what  did  you  say?"  cries  Tashekah 
piteously,  "  You  don't  want  to  send  me  away  from  you, 
do  you?" 

"No,  my  little  one,"  Kah-sha  replies,  answering  her 
last  question  first — "no:  you  are  my  light.  It  would  be 
darkness  indeed,"  he  adds  to  himself,  "if  this  little  oil- 
cup  were  taken  from  me.  No,  Tashekah,  I  told  him  you 
were  all  I  had;  but  when  parting  must  come,  I  would  it 
might  be  that  such  a  heart  as  his  should  keep  you  warm." 

"Why  do  you  talk  of  parting,  father?  I  want  never  to 
leave  you — oh,  it  makes  all  my  heartsickness  come  back 
to  me  again!  "  and  the  child  shivers  as  if  a  sudden  wind 
had  chilled  her.  Then  Kah-sha,  drawing  himself  within 
the  little  inclosure  and  seating  himself  firmly  against  the 
wall,  draws  the  child  to  his  bos-m  and  with  loving  arms 
enfolds  her. 

"Tell  me  about  it  now,"  he  says.  She  is  about  to 
speak  when  a  slight  sound,  as  of  a  stealthy  footfall,  comes 
from  without  the  screen.  She  holds  her  breath  and  waits, 
hearing  nothing  but  the  heavy  breathing  of  the  sleepers; 
then,  lifting  the  blanket,  she  sees  clearly  against  the  sum- 
mer twilight  a  dark,  crouching  figure  passing  out  of  the 
round,  open  doorway.  With  a  sigh  of  relief  Tashekaii 
draws  back,  sayi»ig: 

Yes,  I  must  te'l  you,  father,  else  the  dream  will  never 
leave  ne.  You  had  been  three  days  gone  when  the  med- 
icine-man walked  into  the  water  to  see  what  the  great 
medicine-spirit  would  show  him  of  the  weather,  and  he 
found  a  storm  was  coming.  Then  to  make  you  safe  we 
kindled  a  great  fire  on  the  river  bank  and  set  out  plenty 


34 


KI.V-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


of  food  for  the  angry  spirits.  We  worked  very  hard  all 
day  long,  and  into  the  night  kept  the  lire  burning. 
Grannie  sat  close  by  the  blaze  and  told  us  about  the 
spirits,  and  many  things  that  Kasko  nor  I  had  ever  heard 
before — about  the  dead-boxes  and  the  awful  witchcraft. 
She  told  us  over  again  about  the  owl — how  it  came  to  be 
a  witch  and  to  know  everything  bad,  and  could  tell  when 
people  were  going  to  die,  I  was  so  tired  at  last  I  pulled 
my  blanket  around  me  and  lay  down  on  the  ground  by  the 
r.p, ;  then  all  at  once  I  lost  grannie's  voice  and  I  heard 
a  /■  'hat  made  my  heart  die.  I  found  myself  looking 
straii^  at  the  house-door,  and  my  eyes  grew  fast  on  a 
great  white  owl  that  sat  in  it.  Three  times  it  flapped  its 
wings  and  hooted  at  me,  'Your  father's  a  witch — your 
father's  a  witch.'  I  could  not  move  me,  and  my  words 
were  dead — only  from  somewhere  came  the  words  to  me, 
^  Your  father  will  die,'  and,  as  still  I  looked,  the  owl 
was  blackest  black,  and  as  it  flew  away  I  saw  that  it  was 
the  Haven." 

Tashekah  has  grown  very  cold  a^  she  told  her  story, 
and  now,  feeling  the  warmth  of  her  father's  sympathy  and 
presence,  her  little  frame  is  shaken  with  sobs.  "I  have 
given  food  to  the  spirits  every  day  since  then,"  she  cries, 
"  What  more  can  I  do,  father  ?  Oh,  why  are  they  so  angry 
with  us  ?     Is  there  no  good  spirit  anywhere  ?  " 

"My  poor  child!  "  replies  her  father,  brought  suddenly 
back  to  his  own  deep  trouble  of  mind.  "My  poor  child! 
so  you  too  are  opening  your  eyes  in  the  dark.  I  could  al- 
most have  wished  thee  blind,  Tashekah." 

Not  fully  comprehending  her  father's  words,  the  girl 
pleads  again :  "  You  will  not  leave  me,  father  ?  Tell  me," 
she  adds  passionately — "  tell  me  that  you  will  not  leave 
me!  My  heart  is  full  of  evil  dreams;  do  not  go  to  that 
far  south  country  to  trade,     /will  work  and  Kasko  w.  11 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


35 


work  for  you— stay   with   us."     And  she  clings  to  him 
tremblingly. 

The  dream  as  told  by  Tashekah  takes  more  hold  upon 
the  mind  of  her  father  than  he  is  willing  she  shall  see, 
or,  indeed,  than  he  himself  realizes.  He  is  naturally  a 
prince  among  his  people,  but  he  can  no  more  separate 
himself  from  the  superstitions  to  which  he  has  been  born 
than  he  can  resolve  into  their  prime  elements  the  tissue 
and  bone  of  his  physical  being. 

In  common  with  many  of  his  people  he  has  suffered 
seriously  from  exposure;  the  pain  in  his  lungs  has  come 
to  trouble  him  much,  though  all  discomfort  is  borne  in 
patient  and  a'^-^lute  silence.  He  knows  how  it  has 
ended  with  others  however,  and  he  has  at  times  been 
haunted  with  the  thought  that  his  own  end  is  not  far  off. 
With  this  new  presentiment  of  death  his  heart  sinks. 
Where  shall  he  go?     It  is  blackness  of  darkness! 

With  a  firmness  born  .of  desperation  he  clasps  his  child 
more  closely  to  his  breast,  saying:  "I  must  go,  Tashe- 
kah—not  for  trade,  as  you  think,  but  to  seek  light.  I 
have  heard  that  a  white  m.an  has  come  to  Fort  Simpson; 
a  man  not  like  the  white-skins  who  gave  the  people  such 
bad  medicine.  He  has  brought  them  better  things,  they 
say,  and  if  it  is  such  light  as  I  sometimes  feel  there  must 
be  \omewhere,  it  will  more  than  pay  for  all  the  evil  his 
brothers  brought. 

*'  Now,  Tashekah,  more  than  ever  I  must  go!  My  own 
spirit  is  dying;  but  I  would  die  in  all  this  darkness  if 
through  it  I  could  find  the  light  for  thee! 

"Sleep  now,  little  one.  Your  father  keeps  the  watch 
and  safely  covers  you." 


36 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


CHAPTER   IV. 


DEATH    OF    CHIEF    KOOD-WOT. 


TN  Yhin-da-stachy,  Kood-wot  the  chief  lies  dying.  Ten 
""■  days  after  the  return  of  the  traders,  on  a  morning 
bright  and  early,  the  chief  with  his  slave  Usha  ascended 
the  mountain  just  back  of  the  village  to  bring  down 
ihe  mountain-sheep  seen  grazing  on  its  heights. 

As  the  hunters  approached,  the  sheep  moved  on  with 
slow  ease,  nibbling  fresh  pastures  as  they  went,  but  with 
true  instinct  taking  the  course  most  difficult  of  pursuit. 
In  proportion  as  the  distance  lessened  and  the  climbing 
became  more  perilous  to  the  men,  it  became  exciting — 
now  crossing  a  gorge  filled  with  rotten  ice,  then  scaling 
a  cliff,  leaping  a  chasm,  and  on,  over  scarcely  balanced 
bowlders,  to  a  bare  foot-hold  against  an  overhanging  wall. 
It  had  been  a  hard  and  hurried  chase,  when,  before  an- 
other steep  ascent,  Kood-wot  sank  suddenly  down,  and 
from  his  mouth  there  flowed  a  stream  of  bright  red  blood. 

He  had  suffered  several  hemorrhages  before,  and  now 
the  violent  exercise  had  induced  a  very  serious  one.  He 
had  become  separated  from  Usha,  and  as  he  found  himself 
sinking  on  the  narrow  ledge  he  had  but  reached,  he  clung 
with  desperate  but  rapidly  failing  strength  to  the  crag 
jutting  at  his  side. 

Moment  after  moment  passed  as  ages  to  the  old  chief 
before  he  received  any  sign  from  without,  but  at  last  there 
came  to  his  ear  a  shout,  as  one  might  hear  it  in  a  dream — 
its  meaning  was  lost  to  his  dulled  sense.  The  current  of 
his  life  was  flowing  out,  its  traffic  with  the  brain  had 


^.V   A  LA  SKA  X    STOAT. 


37 


;n 


ceased;  the  light  faded  from  his  sight,  and  the  fingers, 
though  still  closed  as  fingers  are  in  death,  slipped  from 
their  unconscious  grip,  and,  in  an  instant  falling  sheer 
over  the  precipice,  Kood  wot  lay,  mangled  and  bleeding, 
in  the  gorge  below. 

Usha,  approaching  from  the  opposite  direction,  turned 
the  angle  of  the  rock  which  had  shut  them  from  each 
other's  sight  at  the  very  moment  that  his  master's  hold 
was  lost.  With  a  shout  of  grief  and  terror  he  dashed 
down  the  pass  with  reckless  speed,  and  after  many  sharp 
turns  and  steep  descents  he  reached  the  unconscious  but 
still  breathing  man. 

With  careful  hands  the  faithful  slave  tried  to  straighten 
out  the  poor  body  and  render  its  position  less  painful — 
then  gathered  the  water-drops  as  they  trickled  from  the 
rock,  and  bathed  the  master's  forehead  and  chafed  his 
hands.  The  eyelids  quivered — the  eyes  rolled  but  gave 
out  no  sense  of  light  or  reason;  the  teeth  gritted  at  times, 
and  then  were  set. 

Very  soon  Usha  ran  to  the  village  for  help.  On  a  lit- 
ter quickly  constructed  from  canoc-poles  and  blankets, 
the  old  man  has  been  carried  down  to  his  house  amid  the 
cries  and  lamentations  of  the  people. 

The  heart  has  been  found  still  to  beat,  and  a  medicine- 
man has  been  called  in.  Blanket  after  blanket  has  been 
brought  out  from  the  chief's  long-gathertng  treasure  and 
hung  about  the  room  to  induce  to  still  greater  efforts 
against  the  evil  spirits  so  greedy  for  another  soul. 

The  medicine-man's  appearance  is  hideous  in  the  ex- 
treme. His  body  is  bony  and  nude,  except  that  girdling 
chest  and  loins  are  strings  of  teeth  from  the  carcasses  of 
sharks  and  beavers,  with  the  claws  of  bears,  the  talons  of 
eagles,  and  bones  of  various  kinds — these  suspended  from 
the  belt  by  slender  thongs  several  inches  in  length. 


38 


A'hV-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


But  it  is  the  face  which  rivets  attention,  with  its  un- 
canny, snaicish  power.  The  gaping  mouth,  the  wide,  thin 
lips,  the  sunken  cheei<s,  the  vulture-like  nose  are  parts  of 
the  whole,  but  the  mystery  of  the  face  is  in  the  eyes,  felt, 
not  seen — for  whether  the  eyes  are  large  or  small  we  can- 
not know.  T\\ty  seetn  the /ace — rather,  the  spirit  itself! 
Deep-set  in  shadowy  hollows  and  overhung  by  the  matted 
hair,  they  seem  to  emit  flame. 

The  hair,  uncut  and  uncombed  from  birth,  hangs  wildly 
about  the  face  and  falls  to  the  waist  behind,  while  in  and 
over  and  through  it  is  the  gray  down  from  eagles'  feathers 
used  in  his  incantations. 

His  box,  inlaid  with  sharks'  teeth,  containing  his  para- 
phernalia, is  brought  in  by  a  servant  and  placed  beside 
the  sorcerer,  who  has  seated  himself  on  the  floor  beside 
the  victim.  He  coolly  surveys  the  articles  of  reward  as 
they  are  offered.  A  hundred  dollars'  worth  have  been 
shown  him  before  he  very  deliberately  proceeds  to  take 
out  his  drum  and  charmed  rattle. 

The  drum  (really  a  large  tambourine,  about  two  feet  in 
diameter — a  single  skin  stretched  tightly  over  a  circular 
frame)  is  given  to  the  hand  of  an  attendant,  its  beats  to 
be  regulated  by  the  fast  and  slow  of  the  medicine-man's 
movements. 

Three  parts  of  the  great  house  are  filled  with  people — 
men,  women,  and  children,  sitting  and  standing,  densely 
massed.  On  the  fourth  side,  opposite  the  door,  with  head 
toward  the  wall,  lies  the  body  of  the  chief;  at  either  end 
of  this  long  space  hang  the  rewards,  and  between  them  is 
the  dancing-ground  of  the  doctor,  who  now  sits,  limply, 
near  the  sick  man's  feet,  with  the  rattle  in  his  hand. 

He  has  closed  his  eyes,  and  now  he  begins  to  breathe 
more  heavily  and  irregularly — the  drum  is  but  touched, 
as  by  his  breath. 


t 

t 
s 

a 
I 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


39 


jn- 
liii 
of 


I 


Presently  the  breathing  itself  assumes  a  form  of  sound; 
there  is  a  mutter — a  rumble,  gradually  gaining  the  punc- 
tuation of  a  chant,  weird  and  wild  as  the  cries  of  a  lost 
soul. 

Now  the  eyes  roll — the  sight  turns  inward,  then  out 
again,  throwing  light  lurid  as  from  hell.  'J'he  muscles 
begin  to  twitch,  the  limbs  to  jerk,  the  body  to  rock  and 
sway  as  moved  by  infernal  machinery. 

The  sight  becomes  fixed  as  held  by  awful  power — breath 
comes  in  snorts — the  chant  grows  louder — the  drum  beats 
quick  and  low;  every  muscle  freezes  tense — the  air  is 
palpitating  with  the  powers  of  the  unseen  world. 

There  is  a  crouching  of  the  visible  champion.  And 
now  with  the  cry  and  the  spring  of  a  panther  he  is  at  the 
side  of  the  mangled,  prostrate  form — the  chant  is  now  a 
shriek;  the  drum-beats  indicate  the  close  and  awful  con- 
tact of  the  opposing  forces,  the  rattle  is  held  aloft  and 
shaken  with  ferocious  vehemence.  Now  he  retreats, 
crouches,  springs  clean  over  the  body — wilder  and  wilder 
grow  the  singing  and  the  drum — he  dashes  fiendishly  at 
the  dying  man  as  though  about  to  tear  him  to  pieces — he 
writhes  as  in  torment — he  shrieks  and  moans  and  beats 
his  own  body — he  leaps  into  air  with  uplifted  arms  and 
a  blood-curdling  yell — there!  he  has  fallen  and  relapsed 
into  his  first  position.  The  sounds  have  fallen — muffled, 
also.  There  is  a  clutching — a  clawing  at  the  invisible — 
a  hissing,  with  lips  compressed,  with  jaws  set;  the  spit- 
ting of  a  wild-cat,  the  snap  and  snarl  of  a  maddened  dog. 

A  palsy  seizes  the  whole  frame  of  the  creature,  with 
muscles  drawn  to  a  tenseness  like  iron  and  moved  by  irre- 
sistible power,  till,  foaming  at  the  mouth,  the  eyes  roll- 
ing as  in  horrible  agony,  he  falls  under  the  power  of  the 
spirits  he  has  dared  to  encounter.  Two  men  spring  for- 
ward and  take  him  in  their  grasp,  trying  to  prevent  him 


40 


KIN.  DA .  SIfON'  S    WIFE: 


from  eating  his  own  flesh.  His  struggles  are  w  Id  beyond 
description  and  end  in  a  dead  swoon. 

He  is  now  left  to  himself — for  in  this  swoon  are  revealed 
to  him  the  human  agencies  which  are  in  league  with  the 
spirits  he  has  assailed.  Woe  to  the  man,  woman,  or  child 
who  may  have  crossed  this  wretch's  will  at  any  time,  or 
who  are  objects  of  dislike  to  those  rich  enough  to  pay 
this  creature  for  condemning  them! 

The  waiting  people  hold  their  breath  in  a  silence  which 
grows  more  terrible,  not  knowing  who  may  be  the  victim 
of  this  consultation  with  the  powers  of  darkness. 

At  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  close  to  the  front  of  the 
crowd,  sit  the  immediate  friends  of  the  injured  chief — his 
old  wife  and  their  children,  and  near  the  wife  is  her  hus- 
band's nephew  and  heir-apparent — a  sister's  son,  who  at 
his  uncle's  death  will  succeed  to  his  title,  house,  goods, 
and  wife. 

The  young  man  had  chanced  to  arrive  at  the  village 
on  the  day  before  the  accident,  stopping  at  the  house  of 
his  father's  brother,  who  was  no  other  than  Ka-kee  him- 
self, now  lying  in  the  trance  and  the  cause  of  such  agoniz- 
ing suspense  to  many  of  the  spectators. 

The  face  of  the  young  man  is  painted  with  heavy  black 
and  red,  which  gives  to  the  naturally  bad  face  an  increased 
ferocity  of  expression;  a  square  of  red  cotton,  folded,  is 
bound  about  the  head.  The  eyes  only  seem  familiar  to 
us,  and  they  bear  a  striking  resemblance  to  those  of  his 
uncle  the  medicine-man  in  their  snakish  expression  and 
in  the  peculiar  lurid  effect  they  at  times  present. 

There  is  now  a  look  about  them  of  not  altogether  dis- 
guised triumph  as  he  glances  furtively  from  his  powerful 
relative  now  lying  before  him,  across  the  assembled  tribes, 
and  rests  for  a  moment  on  the  sad  and  defiant  face  of  a 
young  girl  who,  with  her  people,  had  arrived  during  the 


^oncl 

alecl 

the 

hild 

;,  or 

3ay 

lich 


X 


uv 


AJV  ALASKA M    STORY. 


41 


incantations  of  the  unholy  priest.  We  recognize  her  the 
instant  that  her  gaze  meets  that  of  the  young  man,  and 
its  fire  of  bitter  enmity  gives  us  a  clew  to  his  identity. 
It  is  Sha-hehe  and  Yealh-neddy. 

IjuL  now  the  sorcerer  moves,  twitches  and  quivers 
again,  and  with  the  seeming  agonies  of  a  horrible  death 
he  struggles  back  to  human  life.  Like  one  muttering  in 
his  sleep  he  speaks — every  ear  is  strained  to  catch  the 
words  which  come  gurgling  from  that  world  of  horrors 
and  of  mystery : 

"The  spirit  of  the  great  chief  must  pass  before  us  ere 
the  setting  of  the  sun;  "  then  in  the  same  sepulchral  tone 
comes  the  name"  Sha-hehe."  What  else  the  sorcerer  says 
and  does  are  lost  in  the  quick,  sharp  cry  of  terror  from 
Sha-hehe  and  the  general  hubbub  which  ensues. 

The  girl  is  seized  and  bound,  her  feet  close  together,  her 
hands  behind  her  back.  Her  one  poor  garment  is  lorn 
from  her  amid  jeers  and  cries.  On  the  faces  of  those 
about  her  are  seen  both  horror  and  exultation.  Her  own 
father,  in  his  eagerness  to  preserve  the  honor  of  his  fam- 
ily, is  the  first  to  bring  the  great  bundle  of  "  devil-sticks" 
(a  nettle-thorn,  the  least  sting  of  which  is  like  the  sting 
of  a  hornet).  No  sooner  has  he  flung  them  down  than, 
by  her  mother's  hands,  the  girl  is  thro'vn  violently  down 
on  the  venomous  bed  and  spat  upon.  Others  are  not 
slow  in  adding  the  force  of  their  strength  to  the  torture 
of  the  young  witch,  smiiing  her  still  further  into  the 
stinging  nettle.  She  is  then  dragged  from  it  and  her  body 
doubled  together  by  strong  and  violent  hands.  She  is 
thrown  then  upon  her  back  on  the  floor;  a  man  jumps 
upon  her  chest  and,  planting  his  knees  on  it,  beats  her 
head  on  the  planks  below.  The  blood  starts  from  her 
mouth  and  nose — her  eyes  are  staring.  She  is  all  but  un- 
conscious when  they  drag  her  by  the  hair  to  a  stake  driven 


42 


KIN-DA-SIION'S    WIFE: 


into  the  ground  outside  the  door.  The  stake  is  not  more 
than  a  foot  and  a  half  high.  Against  it  they  place  the 
girl's  back,  and  she  is  then  forced  down  into  a  crouching 
position — ner  poor  hands  still  bound  behind,  her  knees 
brought  up  «igL*inst  her  uplifted  chin,  her  head  drawn 
back  over  the  stake  and  to  it  securely  tied  by  means  of 
a  sinew  rope  first  braided  into  her  hair. 

She  is  now  charged  to  confess  her  crime,  the  black  art 
by  which  she  had  induced  the  hemorrhage  and  caused  the 
death  of  the  chief  Kood-wot;  but  after  that  f.rst  sharp 
cry  at  the  speaking  of  her  name,  she  has  uttered  neither 
protest  nor  confession. 

And  having  brought  her  so  near  to  death  her  tormentors 
leave  her  for  a  while,  to  attend  the  equally  ir;jortant  cere- 
monies connected  with  the  death  of  the  chief. 

Upon  the  conclusion  of  the  medicine-man's  trance, 
leaving  the  witch  to  the  certain  torture  of  her  own  friends 
and  intrusting  to  Yealh-neddy  the  duty  of  dispatching 
messengers  to  the  different  villages,  the  old  wife  has  hast- 
ily brought  out  the  chief's  tre  .sures  that  he  may  be  en- 
robed and  decked  before  the  spirit's  defrture,  so  that 
its  comfort  in  another  world  may  be  assured 

Faithful  old  Usha  attends  her;  his  master's  face  is 
painted  as  for  a  feast;  eagle-down  is  blown  into  his  hair, 
which  is  further  ornamented  jy  several  small  ermine 
skins.  The  poor,  mangled  body  is  lifted,  twisted,  and 
pushed  into  a  suit  of  embroidered  deerskin,  mittens  are 
drawn  on  the  stiffening  fingers,  costly  furs  and  a  dancing- 
blanket  are  wrapped  about  him.  At  his  side  are  placed 
boxes  of  oil  and  berries,  bundles  of  dried  fish  and  piles  of 
blankets.  On  lines  stretched  across  the  room  are  the 
long-treasured  riches  of  the  chief's  suits  of  native  cloth- 
ing, blankets,  fur  robes,  dancing-blankets,  beads,  a  bat- 
tered copper  kettle  picked  up  long  ago  from  some  shore- 


AiV  ALASKAN   STORY. 


43 


nore 
the 
tiing 
nees 
rawn 
s  of 


driven  wreckage,  pieces  of  cotton  and  broadcloth,  pearl 
buttons  in  strings;  and  grouped  together  underneath  are 
ch';sts  filled  with  many  other  things  of  various  values. 

These  preparations  are  barely  completed  when  the  arms 
and  legs  of  Usha  are  tied  and  he  is  dragged  to  the  open 
space  in  front  of  the  house,  where  nine  other  slaves,  simi- 
larly bound,  stand  together  in  the  silence  of  that  death 
which  awaits  them. 

Usha  takes  his  place  among  his  brethren,  and  the  sac- 
rifice is  ready.  One  after  another  they  receive  a  dozen 
or  more  deep  stabs  in  different  parts  of  the  body,  until 
the  ground  about  them  is  saturated  with  blood. 

They  are  then  throwu  down  on  their  backs,  and  their 
necks  are  brought  into  position  over  a  log  four  or  five 
inches  in  diameter;  another  log  of  like  dimensions  is  then 
fitted  over  their  necks,  the  executioners  bring  the  ends  to- 
gether, and  in  a  few  seconds  more  the  hideous  gurgling 
has  ceased — the  spirits  of  the  ten  slaves  have  gone  out 
to  prepare  the  way  for  and  to  serve  the  dying  chief.  A 
few  moments  after,  it  is  discovered  that  his  spirit  has  also 
gone  forth. 

Cremation  is  never  accorded  a  slave:  a  menial  service, 
a  low  caste,  a  place  farthest  from  the  fireside's  cheer,  go 
to  make  up  the  condition  which  drowning  of  the  body 
insures — which  cremation  insures  against;  so,  while  the 
body  of  the  chief  lies,  or,  more  correctly,  sits^  in  state 
awaiting  its  burning  honors,  the  bodies  of  the  slaves  are 
dragged  out  to  the  salt  wa'.er  and  cast  into  it. 

All  the  afternoon  hea  y  mists  have  been  driving  up  the 
river — now  they  seem  to  have  collected  about  the  village; 
the  face  of  the  sun  is  hidden,  and  an  unwonted  night,  of 
pitchy  darkness,  falls  over  the  summer  land  of  Chilkat. 


44 


KIN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


CHAPTER  V. 


YEALH-NEDDY  S    REVENGE. 


"'T^HAT  was  well  done,  my  uncle;  the  spirit  of  your 

"*■  great  medicine-man  has  done  a  good  thing  for 
me.  I  don't  begrudge  your  twenty-five  blankets — though 
they  do  come  out  of  my  boxes. " 

"So,  so!  The  young  man  has  rather  suddenly  slipped 
into  the  old  chief's  moccasins,  and  is  out  hunting  in  them 
before  the  j/w</<?  has  left  the  house.  You're  an  owl  as  well 
as  a  raven,  Yealh-neddy,  and  you  have  the  voices  of 
both.  You  know  me  better  than  to  think  that  with 
twenty-five  blankets  I  s^mpaid  for  this  business." 

"I  know  you  better,  my  great  medic"ne-chief,  than  to 
think  you  will  not  take  all  you  can  get,  and,  for  all  I  see, 
you  are  likely  to  get  the  chief's  snow-shoes  at  least — 
for  there'll  be  more  work  for  you  before  things  fit  my 
heart. " 

"I'm  your  fellow,  but  not  your  slave,  I  warn  you, 
young  man.  But  what  does  the  raven  want  now?  Isn't 
that  girl's  life  enough  to  pay  for  her  fun?" 

"  Yes;  her  life,  but  not,  as  you  seem  to  think,  her  death. 
She  can  serve  me  better  living  than  dead." 

"What!  You  don't  mean  to  have  Sha-hehe  killed,  after 
all  ?  I  understand — you  belong  to  the  raven,  as  sure  as 
he  owns  every  mischief  under  the  sun." 

"Ay,  that  I  do;  or  I  would  not  be  employing  j^/^r  help 
in  the  tricks  I  have  to  play.  But  I  have  done  with  you 
in  dial  case;  the  young  wild-cat  will  have  her  claws  cut, 
and  be  all  the  better  company  for  her  spitting;  she  shall 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


45 


pay  for  that !  Oh,  ravens!  she  will  be  a  precious — how 
she  will  hiss! '" 

"They  will  make  you  a  nice  pair,  my  son;  the  old 
woman  needs  something  slippery  to  make  her  go  down. 
I  believe  she  would  stick  in  my  throat." 

"  If  you  think  that  my  game,  you've  tracked  the  wrong 
sheep,  that's  all.  An  old  wife  with  a  chief's  name  and 
goods  is  well  enough,  and  a  slave  with  nettles  in  her  skin 
is  better  than  an  enemy  thrown  to  the  fish;  but  if  the 
chief  of  darkness  has  nothing  more  to  the  taste  than  these, 
Yealh-neddy  will  take  his  trap  and  bow  to  other  hunting- 
grounds." 

"Yealh-neddy  is  easily  pleased,  but  hard  to  satisfy. 
What  track  has  he  spied  now  ? " 

*'  Never  was  hunter  such  a  fool  as  to  take  the  old  deer 
and  leave  the  kid.  I  will  take  both — one  for  hide  and 
sinew,  the  other  for  my  broth." 

"Ah,  ha!  The  young  daughter,  too,  is  it?  I  knew 
you  would  be  up  to  something  fine.  She's  been  shut  up 
now  for  two  years.  She  must  be  a  beauty  by  this  time. 
The  old  woman  meani   ler  for  a  great  chief." 

"And  she  gets  a  greater!  A  chief  with  a  young  lave 
and  two  wives  is  some  distinct'  a  for  a  man  who  has  seen 
no  more  winters  than  have  dropped  their  snc  vs  on  Yealh- 
neddy's  head.  The  old  woman  will  be  glad  enough  to 
give  her  to  me,  and  she  will  be  glad  enough  to  get  out  of 
that  hole  to  go  to  any  one.  I  saw  her  e  es  to-day,  while 
you  were  dancing,  shining  out  between  the  boards  like  a 
young  lynx's.  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  ell  the  old 
woman  what  I  want,  but  there'll  be  plenty  '  time  before 
the  feast  is  over.  I  wonder  when  our  mends  will  get 
here?" 

"The  messengers  will  reach  Klok-won  to-night,  or,  at 
farthest,  by  noon  to-morrow;   another  sunset  will  bring 


46 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


the  guests.  You  will  call  a  council  before  they  go  again, 
and  have  your  affairs  settled,  won't  you?" 

"Yes:  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost.  Some  of  the  chiefs 
are  going  south  to  trade  as  soon  as  the  feast  is  past.  I 
wanted  to  go  myself,  but  now  there  will  be  game  enough 
in  my  own  place.     I'll  wait  for  another  summer." 

"  Who  goes  at  this  time  ?  " 

"Klune,  the  dumb,  young  Kin-da-shon,  and  his 
father;  likely  Kah-sha  and  Tool-chun — that  reminds  me! 
I'm  going  out  to  take  a  look  at  my  pet;  my  heart  tells 
me  she  will  be  ready  for  fight  again  by  this  time;  and,  by 
the  ravens!  I  need  something  to  do;  it's  dull  work  to  fast 
four  days,  even  when  one  is  to  gain  the  chief's  estate. 
How  the  rest  of  you  poor  dogs  do  it  I  don't  know." 

And  with  mock  expression  of  commiseration  for  the 
"dogs" — his  friends  who  would  be  obliged  to  abstain 
from  eating  any  kind  of  food  and  from  drinking  fresh 
water  during  the  four  days  and  nights  intervening  between 
the  death  and  the  cremation  of  his  uncle  chief — Yealh- 
neddy  made  his  way  from  the  house  where  lay  the  dead 
man,  and  where  the  loud  and  incessant  wailing  of  the 
women  had  covered  the  conversation  which,  aside,  he  had 
been  holding  with  Ka-kee. 

The  sky  was  black — not  a  star  was  visible;  the  air  it- 
self seemed  peopleii  with  creatures  of  the  dark. 

'Twas  such  a  nig  lit  as  causes  one  involuntarily  to  drag 
the  foot  and  put  out  the  hand,  to  shut  the  eyes  on  what 
we  cannot  see,  that  the  inner  sight  may  the  more  keenly 
perceive  what  lies  about  us. 

A  little  to  one  side,  and  back  of  the  big  house,  Sha- 
hehe's  stake  had  been  fixed.  By  reason  of  the  excitement 
attendant  on  the  sacrifice  of  he  slaves,  and  afterward  the 
gathering  of  the  mourners  to  cry  dry  the  river  through 
which    they  would  have  their  chief   pass   dry-shod,   the 


.•ii¥r> 


AN  ALASKAN  STORY. 


A1 


young  witch  had  been  left  almost  unnoticed,  and,  for  a 
time,  unnoticing. 

The  weird  chant,  the  wild  wailing  of  the  women,  had 
entered  into  her  benumbed,  unreasoning  mind;  its  chorus 
of  indescribable  sound  seemed  to  rise  from  source  unfath- 
omable and  to  echo  through  eternity  the  cries  of  an  end- 
less wandering.  Her  stupor  became  heavier.  Nature 
was  kinder  than  her  children;  and  while  the  poor  body 
bled  from  their  torture,  she  closed  its  windows  and  its 
doors  for  a  time  and  took  the  spirit  roving.  There  were 
bright  green  fields  before  her  now;  flowers  of  unearthly 
brightness  bloomed  all  about  her;  waters  fell  in  sweetest 
freshness  and  their  music  mingled  with  the  song  of  birds. 
She  danced  along  with  the  lightness  of  a  sunbeam,  and 
glanced  through  vapors  of  fragrance.  Was  this  life — or 
was  this  death  ? 

Suddenly  a  shadow  of  intense  blackness  crossed  her 
beautiful  sky.  The  bird's  song  became  a  croak,  the  flow- 
ers were  changed  to  toads,  the  zephyrs  with  which  she 
played  became  the  flapping  of  a  raven's  wing.  Now  the 
evil  bird  was  at  her  side,  it  pecked  the  flesh  from  her 
hands  and  feet;  now  it  lighted  on  her  shoulder  with  its 
horrid,  croaking  laugh;  and  now — it  wears  the  face  of 
Yealh-neddy!  In  a  moment  more  he  has  buried  his  beak 
in  her  brain.  She  struggles,  but  her  hands  and  her  feet 
are  bound  with  burning  bands — she  cannot  move.  In 
breathless  agony  she  awakes! 

The  night  closes  in  awful  thickness  about  her.  The 
human  cries  mingle  with  the  unearthly,  melancholy,  and 
prolonged  yelps  of  a  hundred  Kling-get  dogs  and  the 
hooting  of  the  owls. 

Che  cannot  at  first  distinguish  or  separate  the  sounds — 
they  come  to  her  like  pulsations  of  the  darkness. 

Her  own  miseries  are  as  yet  undefined.     She  does  not 


48 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


know  that  the  thongs  are  working  into  her  flesh,  that  the 
atmosphere's  humidity  has  bathed  her  still  rigid  body 
until  the  gathered  moisture,  all  stained  with  blood  from 
her  wounds,  is  trickling  to  the  earth  from  her  bare  limbs. 

She  does  not  know — she  cannot  recall — she  is  unable 
to  think.     She  only /ee/s — feels — FEELS! 

With  her  is  neither  time,  nor  space,  nor  place.  It  is 
eternity.  Yet,  what  is  thatl  A  word — a  voice  has  had 
power  to  wake  the  nerves,  to  send  life  back  into  the  brain 
channels  which  had  been  for  a  time  deserted.  She  shud- 
ders with  unspeakable  horror  as  she  recognizes  the  tones 
of  Yealh-neddy. 

"  So,  so,  my  fair  one,  you  are  courting  the  raven  to- 
night ?  He  is  a  black  lover  for  the  rice-blossom.  Let 
us  awaken  his  jealousy — he  will  hold  you  the  tighter  by 
and  by.  Ah,  no  word?  Not  one  tendc*  word  for  me? 
Stay!  Let  me  give  you  cause  for  one."  And  with  a 
stick  of  the  devil's  thorn  he  strikes  her  cheek. 

She  makes  no  outcry.  Leaving  her  for  a  moment,  he 
returns  with  a  basket  of  foul  water,  and  into  the  defence- 
less, upturned  face  brutally  he  throws  it.  Eyes  and 
throat  are  filled  with  the  vile  and  burning  liquid — which 
finds,  too,  every  laceration  on  the  broken  body. 

Only  a  low,  half-strangled  cry  escapes  the  girl.  Hop- 
ing to  provoke  him  now  into  finishing  the  horrid  work, 
into  placing  her  beyond  the  reach  of  further  torture,  and 
knowing  instinctively  that  utter  silence  on  her  part  will 
the  more  surely  accomplish  this  end  with  him,  she  makes 
agonizing  effort  to  suppress  all  sign  of  suffering. 

"No  answer  yet?"  he  mutters.  "Then,  by  the  chief's 
shade,  I'll  have  one!  " 

But  Sha-hehe,  overcome  with  terror  and  pain,  sinks  again 
into  merciful  unconsciousness. 

Yealh-neddy  has  not  perceived  this,  when  one  of  his 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


49 


own  dogs,  with  a  low,  quick  growl,  springs  out  from  the 
brush  near  by,  and  the  man,  with  the  weakness  of  super- 
stition and  the  strength  of  sin  upon  him,  slinks  back 
through  the  gloom,  while  the  more  humane  brute,  sniffing 
about,  finds  the  sufferer,  and  pressing  kindly  face  against 
her,  licks  her  stings. 

4 


5^ 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


CHAPTER   VI. 


KOTCH-KUL-AH. 


T/' OTCH-KUL-AH,  the  young  daughter  of  the  dead 
chief,  upon  reaching  the  borderland  of  womanhood, 
was  secluded  from  all  companionship  (according  to  the 
custom  of  the  Kling-gets)  until  a  husband  should  be  found 
for  her — one  who  should  meet  the  approval  of  her  parents 
and  her  mother's  friends. 

Her  father's  house  differs  a  little  in  its  interior  arrange- 
ment from  that  in  Chilkoot  which  has  been  described- 
for  extending  along  the  four  sides  of  this  dwelling  is  a 
platform  perhaps  six  feet  in  width,  raised  about  three  feet 
above  the  floor,  which  has  as  its  centre  the  large,  square, 
gravelled  fireplace.  A  part  of  this  platform  is  roughly 
inclosed  into  box-like  compartments  used  as  store-rooms 
for  the  chief's  treasures. 

As  there  is  no  opening  in  the  outside  wall  of  the  house 
except  the  one  small  door  (the  light  being  admitted  only 
through  the  hole  in  the  roof  left  as  a  smoke-escape),  these 
little  cupboards  are  close  and  quite  dark,  except  for  the 
few  rays  of  light  which  may  make  their  way  through  the 
shadows  of  the  great  house  and  effect  an  entrance  through 
the  cracks  of  the  rude  partition. 

One  of  these  inclosures  has  been  the  prison-house  of 
the  young  girl  during  the  summer  morths.  A  small  ex- 
cavation, very  much  like  a  shallow  cistern,  unwalled, 
under  the  floor  of  the  house,  made  her  winter  quarters. 

During  the  period  of  confinement  she  has  been  seen  by 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


51 


no  one,  visited  by  no  one,  save  her  mother,  who  brings 
or  throws  her  supplies  of  food  and  water. 

Kotch-kul-ah  has  in  truth  wearied  of  this  living  death. 
Passing  from  her  first  feeling  of  revolt  against  being 
given  as  an  unconsulted  partner  in  such  an  alliance  as 
among  her  people  often  stands  for  marriage,  she  has  come 
to  regard  it  as  a  door  of  escape  into  a  life  that  will  at 
least  afford  her  some  freedom  of  action. 

Lying  day  after  day  and  night  after  night  in  what  she 
has  often  wished  u^ere  her  dead-box^  thought  and  memory 
have  carried  her  back  to  the  free  days  of  childhood,  when, 
with  troops  of  shouting  children,  she  drew  the  tide-belated 
fish  from  the  sea  moss  or  picked  berries  on  the  mountain- 
side; when  she  played  "hide-and-seek"  in  the  forest  or 
lay  rocking  idly  in  shady-coved  canoe. 

To-day  the  bringing  of  her  father  into  the  house,  all 
bleeding  as  he  was,  the  doctor's  dance,  and  all  the  excit- 
ing scenes  connected  with  the  occasion,  though  observed 
only  as  she  could  get  glimpses  through  the  cr.icks  of  her 
cell,  have  been  tastes  of  life  to  the  girl  whose  feelings  are 
dulled,  benumbed,  by  her  two  years  of  imprisonment. 

No  wholesome  sorrow  has  come  to  bless  her  heart;  no 
fountain  of  life  springing  from  natural  affection  has 
blessed  her  with  tears  of  grief.  She  wondered,  languidly, 
when  she  knev/  that  her  father's  spirit  had  gone,  if  his 
slaves  would  be  faithful,  if  they  would  care  for  him  on 
the  long,  long  journey  to  the  other  world.  She  won- 
dered if  he  would  be  able  to  gain  the  attention  of  that 
strange  spirit  on  the  beautiful  island — if  he  would  hear 
and  come  quickly  to  bear  her  father  over.  She  was  glad 
that  they  had  burned  for  him  so  much  food — that  he  had 
so  many  treasures  to  take  with  him.  She  had  seen  them 
give  him  even  a  package  of  paint  for  his  face,  and  hang 
about  his  neck  a  bag  of  charms  to  ward  off  evils  by  the 


s^ 


kIN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


way.  After  these  things  she  stupidly  wondered — what 
next? 

And  now  her  mother  comes  to  give  the  young  face  a 
thick  coat  of  heavy  black  paint,  just  as  her  own  has  been 
dressed,  with  little  tear-courses  left  clear  adown  the 
cheeks,  giving  the  impression  of  long  tear-shedding  by 
the  relatives  before  the  ceremonial  weeping  has  begun. 

The  mother's  hair  has  been  closely  cropped,  but  her 
daughter's  is  left  untouched,  since  she  is  not  regarded  as 
a  near  relative  of  her  father's.  Beautiful  hair  it  is — 
long  and  shining;  and  during  these  two  years  carefully 
combed  with  coarse  wooden  comb  and  her  own  slender 
fingers. 

"Kotch-kul-ah,"  the  mother  says,  "your  father's  shade 
has  passed.     You  know  who  he  is  that  takes  his  place?" 

"Yes,  I  know;  his  nephew,  Ytalh-neddy,  comes  next. 
What  plans  are  his,  think  you?" 

"  His  will  is  to  take  us  both.  His  heart  is  big  for  pos- 
sessions; he  begrudges  what  we  burn  for  your  father;  but 
he  is  proud,  too,  and  he  will  make  a  pot-latch  to  be  talked 
of  in  every  village;  and  by  it  he  will  make  to  himself  a 
debtor  of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  Chilkat 
country.  While  he  lives  the  large  gift  of  every  other 
man's  feast  must  be  Yealh-neddy's.  You  may  be  glad 
to  share  with  your  mother  in  this  matter.  You  could  do 
much  worse;  and  I  know  not  how  you  could  do  better." 

"What  of  the  other  nephew — your  brother's  son — who 
stole  my /aM^r'.f  heart  long  ago?  Don't  you  remember, 
mother,  when  father  said  that  to  Kin-da-shon,  he  an- 
swered, laughing,  that  he  would  keep  it,  then,  till  father 
gave  him  mine?  Father  liked  it  well,  I  could  see.  You 
haven't  forgotten.     Has  he  forgotten  that  ? " 

"  Oh,  why  think  of  it  ?  Kin-da-shon  will  not  be  a  great 
chief,  nor  rich,  like  Yealh-neddy.     Besides,  it  was  play- 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


53 


talk  to  all  but  your  father;  the  next  salmon  season  we 
were  to  talk  about  your  husband — and  Kin-da-shon  hae 
not  asked  for  you,"  she  adds  artfully. 

"  Has  he  asked  for  any  other  wife?"  now  cries  the  girl, 
with  passion,  as  though  suddenly  the  speech  had  drawn 
away  the  curtains  woven  by  her  long  isolation,  and  she 
saw  her  old  playfellow  in  a  new  intensity  of  light  that 
awakens  in  her  strange  life,  and  power,  and  weakness. 

It  is  no  peep  into  her  own  heart.  It  is  as  though,  hav- 
ing been  dead,  she  had  come  into  life.  It  had  been  as 
though  they  talked  of  some  one  else  whose  fate  mattered 
nothing  to  her;  then  suddenly  it  was  of  herself — it  was //<?/- 
fate,  and  it  meant  everything.  She  lives^  and  finds  herself 
in  a  living  world,  more  full  of  life  than  she  had  dreamed 
of  in  the  old  free  days.  Her  mother's  reply  is  awaited 
with  anxious  interest.     The  words  come  carelessly: 

"I  have  heard  no  talk  for  Kin-da-shon.     Wait;    you 
shall  see  them  both;  it  must  be  settled  soon,  now." 
"  How  I  wish  these  crying  days  were  over!  " 
"Well,  the  feasting  will  come  when  the  crying  is  done." 
"What  of  Sha-hehe — what  will  be  her  death?" 
"  I  know  nothing  about  that.     She  will  be  starved  and 
tortured  the  nine  days,  anyhow." 

"  1  wonder  if  she  will  confess,  /would,  and  let  them 
get  done  with  me  the  sooner.  Why  should  a  witch  want 
to  live — with  agony  for  an  only  friend  and  shame  for- 
ever ? " 

With  this  remark,  Kotch-kul-ah  rises  to  her  feet  and 
draws  her  blanket  of  fringed  squirrel-skin  close  about  her. 
On  her  head  she  places  a  wooden  hat,  from  the  brim  of 
which  is  suspended  a  heavy  leather  fringe,  which  com- 
pletely obscures  her  face.  The  time  at  first  agreed  upon 
as  the  limit  of  her  confinement  has  but  lately  come  to  a 
close,  a  little  sooner  than  has  been  found  convenient  to 


54 


KIN-DA'SHON'  S    WIFE: 


arrange  for  her  marriage,  so  that  this  new  liberty  of  walk- 
ing after  nightfall  with  her  mother  has  been  accorded  her 
with  certain  modest  restrictions. 

Very  soon  tiie  people  will  be  returning  for  the  night, 
and  she  must  be  safely  housed  again  before  the  crowd 
gathers.  Without  further  words  the  two  pass  through  the 
great  room  and  into  the  darkness  without. 

The  ground  on  one  side  of  the  door  is  slippery  with  the 
blood  of  the  slaves;  by  taking  the  opposite  course  ^''.  ;y 
soon  approach  the  stake  of  Sha-hehe,  their  moccasined 
tread  giving  no  hint  of  their  coming.  Yealh-neddy  is 
still  busy  with  his  victim.  At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the 
women  turn  aside,  passing  silently  as  they  came,  and 
remain  unseen  but  within  hearing  until  the  dog,  which 
has  followed  them,  springs  through  the  intervening  brush 
in  pursuit  of  some  small  night-loving  game,  and  starL>s 
Yealh-neddy  in  his  deed  of  evil. 

A  few  hours  before  Ivotch-kul-ah  could  have  heard  such 
words  as  he  now  had  uttered  with  unthinking  indifference. 
Her  heart  had  been  in  a  stupor.  The  common  conversa- 
tion among  the  people  in  her  father's  house  had  been  of 
such  a  nature  as  to  toughen  and  roughen  the  soul.  Be- 
fore her  weary  imprisonment  she  had  never  thought  of  it 
at  all;  but,  sitting  in  the  darkness,  apart  and  alone,  she 
did  think  a  little.  As  it  came  to  her  ears  day  after 
day  she  sickened  of  it,  then  grew  apathetic,  and  at  last 
unfeeling.  It  mattered  nothing  to  her  how  many  slaves 
were  butchered  to  show  their  master's  wealth,  nor  how 
many  witches  were  taken,  nor  whether  they  were  made 
slaves  of  or  cut  into  pieces,  or  strangled  or  buried  alive. 
She  had  seen  all  these  things  done  without  the  burning  of 
heart  that  possesses  her  now.  It  is  not  that  a  witch-girl 
is  being  made  to  suffer;  no  doubt  she  deserves  more  than 
death.      'Tis  that  the  woman^  God-created,  even   in  the 


■*— — •  i^^f^P*^**** 


AiV  ALASK'AX   STORY. 


55 


:lit. 


savage  breast,  has  been  awakened  in  this  naturally  impet- 
uous girl.  Kotch-kul-ah  is  all-unconscious  of  the  work 
i)cing  done  within  her  by  this  newly  discovered  love. 
^\'e  have  seen  solid  vails  of  snow  melt  down  in  a  few 
hours  from  where  they  have  stood  undaunted  for  months; 
as  their  waters  have  flooded  the  ground  we  have  seen 
great,  dark,  woolly  fern-balls  rise  by  some  unseen  force, 
and,  in  as  many  more  hours,  stand  on  stalks,  erect,  as 
high  as  a  man's  shoulder;  then,  day  by  day,  under  that 
same  magnetic  power,  they  have  unrolled,  unfolded,  until 
their  palmy  fronds  have  reached  far  out  toward  heaven. 

Kotch-kul-ah's  nature  has  been  buried  under  such 
weight;  a  spiritual  force  mighty  as  the  sun  has  now  be- 
gun its  work  for  her;  already ///i?  is  showing;  whether  any 
beauty  lies  hidden  within,  the  future  must  disclose. 

In  what  she  overheard  of  Yealh-neddy's  speech  to  Sha- 
hche  there  was  that  which  angered  her  as  she  had  never 
before  been  angered.  She  cannot  explain  it,  for  she  un- 
derstands neither  the  cause  nor  character  of  her  resentment. 
She  knows  only  that  her  whole  spirit  rebels  against  this 
fellow,  and  an  unspoken  vow  is  taken  upon  her  soul  to 
escape  from  him  if  she  gives  life  itself  in  the  attempt. 
At  the  same  time  life  becomes  more  desirable  than  ever 
before  as,  involuntarily,  against  the  background  of  ali 
that  excites  her  indignation  there  is  brought  out  in  ever 
stronger-growing  light  the  character  of  Kin-da-shon — 
brave,  gentle,  generous,  and  true.  She  knew  him  that  in  the 
long  ago;  so  many  things  are  coming  back  to  her — things 
long  since  forgotten — and  she  wonders  how  she  could  for- 
get. She  can  never  again  forget.  If  Kin-da-shon  cannot 
be  her  husband  she  can  die;  but  another  she  will  not 
have. 

Not  a  word  will  she  speak — even  the  mother  here  must 
not  know  how  she  longs  for  him  till  he  himself  has  spoken; 


56 


KIN-DA-SIION'S    WIFE: 


death  may  come,  but  she  will  not  choose  shame.     She 
thinks  so;  the  plant  is  high,  not  yet  unfolded. 

They  have  passed  by  the  unconscious  Sha-hehe — the 
old  woman  with  words  of  hate,  not  knowing  that  she  was 
beyond  their  reach;  Kotch-kul-ah  absorbed  with  the 
world  she  has  found  within  herself;  but  as  they  approach 
the  entrance  she  instinctively  draws  her  blanket  more 
closely  about  her  face,  and,  unnoticed,  reaches  her  closet, 
where  she  is  again  shut  in. 

The  fire  is  being  built  up  for  the  night,  which  has 
grown  cold,  and  the  bright,  high-leaping  flames  soon  send 
a  glow  to  the  farthest  corners  of  the  great  house. 

P'or  to-night  people  come  and  go  as  they  will.  The 
friends  from  other  villages  cannot  arrive  before  to-mor- 
row, and  the  ceremonies  will  not  begin  until  they  come. 
But  there  io  weeping  with  the  coming  in  of  each  group 
of  friends — noisy  weeping;  and  such  arrangements  as  can 
be  decided  upon  are  talked  over  and  settled. 

The  most  interesting  of  these  is  the  decision  of  the 
widow  as  to  her  husband's  successor,  and  the  agreement 
of  herself  and  hei  brothers  and  sisters  as  to  whom  her 
daughter,  Kotch-kul  ah,  shall  be  given  as  wife.  She  has 
reasons  for  speedily  desiring  this  s(  ttlement  fully  made 
before  the  arrival  of  her  half-brother,  Shans-ga-gate,  and 
his  son,  Kin-da-shon,  from  Klok-won. 

For  this  purpose  the  widow,  Kah-da-guah,  her  old 
mother,  and  her  immediate  family  have  seated  them- 
selves together;  b  the  matter  in  hand  does  not  exclude 
outsiders,  nor  does  their  presence  at  all  embarrass  the 
council. 

The  preference  for  Yealh-ned(ly  seems  to  have  been  so 
well  understood  that  no  other  aspirant  has  been  brought 
forward.  With  his  mother  and  his  mother's  brother, 
Yealh-neddy  comes  forward  to  present  his  claim  and  show 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


57 


his  worth.  His  mother  and  uncle  also  speak,  boasting  of 
the  young  man's  prowess,  his  youth  and  strength,  his 
sagacity,  and  what  he  can  give  to  show  his  appreciation 
of  what  he  gets. 

Kah-da-guah,  as  a  vain  woman,  had  been  flattered  by 
Yea'h-neddy's  determination.  All  the  more  that  she 
knew  his  lawless  character,  his  evil  life,  and  his  unwill- 
ingness ever  before  to  take  a  wife.  She  very  well  knew 
that  she  could  not  expect  to  reign  alone;  her  kingdom  in 
Yealh-neddy  must  sooner  or  later  be  shared  with  another 
and  younger  woman.  This  she  did  ncl  object  to  if  she 
could  maintain  the  first  place  in  importance  and  author- 
ity, and  she  saw  no  difficulty  in  that  if  her  daughter  were 
the  chosen  second. 

Yealh-neddy,  without  knowing  this  mind  of  the  widow, 
had,  as  she  divined  from  the  first,  meant  to  have  them 
both.  His  double  suit  is  presented,  not  without  an  air  of 
condescension  on  his  own  part,  though  unnoticed  by  the 
woman,  who  sees  only  her  own  ambition  gratified.  Her 
friends  are  equally  pleased,  or,  in  some  cases,  indifferent. 

And  so,  without  any  show  of  the  extreme  satisfaction 
of  both  parties,  it  is  fully  and  finally  settled  that  Yealh- 
neddy  is  the  chief,  and  that  in  one  month  after  the  pres- 
ent feast  his  marriage  with  Kah-da-guah  and  her  daugh- 
ter, Kotch-kul-ah,  shall  be  consummated — an  agreement 
as  binding  as  marriage  itself,  the  violation  of  which 
brings  shame  and  war  and  death. 

Kotch-kul-ah  in  her  closet  has  overheard  enough  of 
what  has  passed  in  the  council  to  know  that  her  fate  has 
been  sealed,  as  far  as  powerful  relatives  and  the  sternest 
of  tribal  laws  can  fix  it.  All  the  more  fiercely  she  re- 
solves to  wrest  herself  from  its  hateful  decree,  be  the  end 
life  or  death. 

She  will  not  throw  herself  upon  Kin-da-shon — oh,  no! 


S8 


KIiV-DA-SIION' S    WIFE: 


And  it  is  not  shame  alone  which  prevents  such  a  step. 
She  too  well  knows  how  utterly  futile  such  a  course  would 
be;  he  could  do  nothing  even  if  his  heart  were  breaking 
for  her,  and  the  effort  would  only  bring  shame  and  death 
to  him  as  well  as  to  herself.  No;  t/tat  s\\q  could  not  do; 
but  this — this  she  cannot,  7L>iIl  not  do.  She  must  get 
away.     How  ?     Where  ?     What  can  she  do  ? 

She  must  think — and  think.  She  must  make  it  out. 
She  wishes  her  head  were  more  used  to  working;  she 
wishes  it  would  quit  throbbing  so. 

Several  hours  of  such  vain  labor  pass,  when,  unused 
as  she  is  to  any  struggle,  Kotch-kul-ah  falls  into  a  dream- 
troubled  sleep,  in  which  she  is  fleeing,  fleeing,  and  ever 
pursued,  until,  driven  to  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  she  leaps 
into  its  darkness  and  falls,  falls — into  ivhat  is  she  falling? 

Ah!  she  is  awake  now,  and  her  body  is  wet  with  the 
sweat  of  horror.  The  people  have  gone  to  their  own 
homes,  the  fire  is  out;  she  shivers  with  cold — no,  she  is 
hot,  burning,  smothering — she  cannot  breathe;  she  must 
break  these  walls!  Stop;  here  is  the  door.  Strange!  it 
is  unlocked!  She  does  not  know  that  her  mother  had 
come  to  tell  her  what  had  been  done,  after  all  was  over, 
and  had  found  her  asleep;  then,  so  absorbed  in  other  mat- 
ters, had  forgotten  to  bolt  the  door  as  she  went  out. 

It  yields  readily  to  Kotch-kul-ah's  touch.  She  holds  it 
open  to  listen  before  taking  a  step — that  sense  has  had  the 
full  benefit  of  training.  By  the  sounds  of  breathing  she 
is  able  to  locate  every  creature  in  that  great  room,  and 
knows  just  when  she  may  safely  pass.  They  sleep  heav- 
ily, weary  with  the  day's  excitement. 

She  opens  the  little  door  wide  back  against  the  wall, 
and  leaves  it  so;  then,  with  her  blanket  drawn  close  about 
her,  she  silently  passes  out  of  the  house.  Not  a  thought 
of  what  she  shall  do,  when  freedom  from  the  Tiouse  is 


AN"  ALASKAN'   STORY. 


59 


ret 


gained,  has  crossed  her  mind;  she  has  obeyed  simply  an 
impulse  of  fevered  blood.  "Out!  away!"  it  had  cried. 
The  fresh,  cold  air  stimulates  her  brain  to  ask:  "Why 
did  I  come  here  ?     What  am  I  going  to  do  ?  " 

At  another  time  she  would  have  been  paralyzed  with 
fear  at  finding  herself  alone  at  such  an  hour,  a  companion 
of  frogs  and  owls,  open  to  all  mysterious  and  evil  influ- 
ences. To-night  she  is  strangely  indifferent  to  these 
things;  she  has  no  fear.  When  the  fact  occurs  to  her  she 
wonders  why. 

Hark!  was  that  a  human  voice?  Whence  did  it  come? 
She  puts  her  hand,  shell-like,  to  her  ear.  Ah!  that  is  the 
wilch-girl  groaning.  Mechanically  she  follows  the  sound 
until  she  stands  beside  Sha-hehe.  The  clouds  have  be- 
gun to  break ;  a  breeze  is  rising  and  begins  to  send  them 
scurrying  hither  and  thither — not  certainly  yet  in  any 
single  direction,  but  letting  through  their  parted  folds 
light  enough  for  eyes  long  accustomed  to  darkness  to  see 
the  misery  before  them.  The  tongue  is  speechless,  swollen 
and  protruding;  a  gurgling  sound  is  brought  with  every 
breath.  The  eyes  are  glassy  and  stand  out  with  fulness  of 
agony.  Consciousness  is  perfect  now — more  perfect  than 
ever  before.  It  has  told  Sha-hehe  that  one,  not  an  enemy, 
is  near.  All  the  entreaty  which  might  be  conveyed  by 
speech  and  gesture  is  concentrated  in  her  eyes;  they  pray, 
they  implore. 

And  Kotch-kul-ah — what  is  she  doing?  Brought  up  in 
the  belief  that  a  witch  is  the  direct  agent  of  the  most 
powerful  of  devils,  whom  to  pity  is  to  court — where  is 
her  fear,  her,superstition  stronger  than  the  fear  of  death? 

She  knows  not,  herself;  she  even  wonders,  when  she 
has  had  time  to  think,  how  she  could  do  it.  She  has 
kneeled  beside  Sha-hehe;  she  tries  to  loose  her  bonds  with 
her  delicate  fingers.     Finding  it  impossible  to  remove  the 


6o 


KINDA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


ropes  without  a  knife,  and  knowing  that  it  is  equally  im- 
possible to  obtain  such  an  instrument  now,  she  recollects 
that  her  supper  of  dried  fish  and  water  is  in  her  closet 
untouched.* 

She  will  go  and  bring  the  water;  perhaps  the  girl  can 
swallow  a  little — at  least  her  parched  tongue  can  be  wet. 

With  more  painstaking  than  she  had  come,  Kotch-kul- 
ah  returns  to  the  house,  listening  again  at  the  outer  door. 
But  a  moment  more,  and  with  the  little  basket  of  watei 
she  has  come  again,  and  stands  bending  over  the  helpless 
creature,  dipping  her  fingers  into  the  water  and  letting  it 
fall  in  cooling  drops  on  the  poor  sufferer's  tongue. 

A  glow  of  warm,  rosy  light  is  even  now  beginning  to 
show  above  the  mountain.  With  something  more  akin  to 
concern  than  she  has  before  felt,  Kotch-kul-ah  retraces 
her  steps  to  the  house.  Within  it  is  yet  dark,  and  the 
sleepers  still  sleep  heavily. 

Once  again  within  her  prison,  she  carefully  closes  her 
door  and  crouches  down  on  the  floor — to  sleep  or  to  think! 

Sleep  had  fled;  thoughts  all  unwelcome  come  upon  her 
like  ravens.  How  many  times  she  has  seen  the  hateful 
creatures  sailing  round  and  round  over  the  poor  salmon  en- 
snared by  the  tide  and  lying  on  the  sand,  until  these  evil 
birds  took  out  their  eyes  and  left  the  blinded  things  to  die. 

Yes;  that  is  what  these  thoughts  are  like.  She  will 
beat  them  off! 

There  they  come  again,  round  and  round.  What  has  she 
done?  Succored  a  witch?  Surely  her  case  was  evil 
enough  before!  What  now?  Why,  now,  turn  which  way 
she  may,  evil  spirits  will  attend  to  destroy  her!  What 
may  they  not  do  ? 

She  will  welcome  death.  What  then  ?  Devils,  face  to 
face ! — she  cannot  die !    Oh,  for  rest ! — for  a  place  of  refuge ! 

*  Not  being  of  her  fsther's  tribe,  she  was  not  obliged  to  fast. 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


6i 


CHAPTER    VII. 


IN    THE   MEADOWS. 


A^riTH  early  morning  came  the  sun  forth,  bright  and 
clear.  A  fresh  breeze  has  brought  fair  weather 
from  the  north,  leaving  not  a  trace  of  last  night's  fog  and 
gloom. 

Many  of  the  children,  escaping  from  the  dismal  cleep- 
ing-houses,  make  their  way  to  the  great  woodland  which 
stretches  across  the  peninsi  .^,  and  spend  hours  in  play  and 
in  gathering  goodies  of  gum  and  balsam  and  spicy  buds. 

Some  of  the  children  follow  the  trail;  others,  bringing 
heavy  charges  of  babies  in  blankets  on  their  backs,  have 
embarked  in  a  little  old  canoe,  which  is  both  leaking 
and  creaking,  but  made  to  do  good  service  on  such  occa- 
sions. 

AVith  every  dip  of  the  paddle  the  cracks  in  the  bottom 
yawn,  and  water  rushes  into  the  old  shell — but  that  only 
serves  to  make  the  trip  more  interesting  to  these  fearless 
mariners;  and  while  some  dexterously  send  the  boat  for- 
ward, others,  with  little  old  baskets  and  wooden  ladles, 
deftly  dip  the  water  out.  By  instinct  they  keep  the  equi- 
librium of  these  canoes,  so  sensitive  to  a  false  balance 
that  the  best  care  of  a  novice  does  not  always  insure 
his  safety. 

Here  are  babies  of  a  few  months  and  upward  in  the  care 
of  l)oys  and  girls  of  six  to  ten  years!  They  roll  about, 
apparently  without  guard.  Those  who  are  two  and  three 
years  old  are  playing  at  paddling,  or  snatching  at  the 
shell-fish  seen  on  the  sand  under  the  shallow  water. 


62 


KIN.DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


By  coming  at  high  tide  a  mile  of  sand  is  traversed  thus 
easily,  and  then  they  enter  the  meadows  through  winding 
water-ways,  cut  by  freshets  and  worn  by  the  tides,  wide 
enough  only  for  their  small  canoes,  but  reaching  full  half 
a  mile  inland. 

In  this  clear,  brook-like  passage  numberless  minnows 
dart  about,  like  sunbeams  in  the  shade  and  like  shadows 
in  the  sunlight.  Flowers  hide  among  the  high  grass  and 
the  graceful  rushes;  little  vines  drop  from  the  overtop- 
ping luxuriance  down  the  soft  clay  banks. 

Now  the  children,  with  jest  and  laughter,  grasp  at  the 
verdure;  and  some,  in  teasing  mood,  hold  fast,  stopping 
the  progress  of  the  party.  In  imperturbable  good-humor 
they  make  the  best  of  the  delay  by  scratching  curious  fig- 
ures on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  clay  bank  with  sticks 
and  fingers  or  with  nimble  toes. 

While  thus  engaged  a  merry-eyed,  muscular  little  fel- 
low, quietly  and  unnoticed,  rolls  out  of  the  boat,  and  in 
an  instant,  by  his  sudden  lifting  shove,  the  canoe  has  shot 
forward,  xattering  girls  and  boys,  babies  and  baskets, 
promiscuously!  Babies  cry,  but  laugh  through  their  tears 
as  they  are  presently  brought  right  side  up  again  by  their 
nurses,  who  are  ducking  about  and  shouting  in  keen  ap- 
preciation of  the  joke. 

The  laughing-eyed  joker  has  sprung  to  the  top  of  the 
bank,  his  trick  accomplished,  and  after  him  go  the  boys 
to  bring  him  to  account.  Into  the  high  grass  they  dive 
and  flounder  together  in  a  merry  tussle,  so  engaged  in 
frolic  and  fun  they  do  not  notice  the  party  approaching 
by  the  wooded  trail,  Da-shu,  from  the  portage,  toward 
Yhin-da-stachy. 

The  children,  however,  are  not  unnoticed  by  the  trav- 
ellers, some  of  whom,  attracted  by  the  noise,  turn  aside 
to  learn  the  meaning  of  it.     Among  those  who  do  so  is 


AN  A  LA  SKA  I\'    STORY. 


63 


Kah-sha,  with  Kasko  proudly  bearing  a  part  of  his  father's 
burden,  while  dancing  now  before  them  and  again  at  their 
side  is  Tashekah,  happy  at  being  allowed  to  accompany 
her  father  so  far  on  his  journey. 

At  sight  of  the  new-comers  the  children  leave  off  their 
sport  and  stand  in  groups  abashed,  as  expecting  repri- 
mand, but  when  Kah-sha  speaks  it  is  with  gentleness, 
though  his  words  are  grave: 

"  My  little  ones,  you  bring  with  you  none  of  the  sorrow 
of  your  mothers;"  and  then  reflectively,  as  though  more 
to  himself  than  to  them,  he  adds:  "Well,  it  were  sadder 
if  you  did;  this  world  will  be  darker  yet  when  there  are 
no  sunbeams." 

As  he  spoke  he  sat  down  wearily  and  lay  back,  resting 
against  his  pack,  and  the  children  without  fear  raise  their 
eyes  again. 

Kunz,  of  the  laughing  eye,  snatches  up  a  basket  and 
darts  away  to  a  spring  of  fresh  water  in  the  edge  of  the 
forest,  into  which  he  dips  and  brings  the  refreshing 
draught  in  grateful  kindness  to  Kah-sha,  who  thanks  the 
little  rogue  and  drmk3. 

No  sooner  does  he  resume  his  position  than  his  cough 
begins,  racking  his  whole  body.  Kasko  has  made  loose 
the  straps  of  the  packs,  and  soon  the  father  turns  over 
on  the  grass,  that  he  may  the  better  hide  the  streaks  of 
bright  blood  which  he  has  found  coming  with  the  cough. 
He  would  have  no  one  know  what  would  endanger  the  life 
or  peace  of  any  living  creature.  He  wishes  no  witch  to 
suffer  for  him. 

Tashekah,  sitting  at  her  father's  feet,  waits  anxiously. 
Kasko,  ever  on  the  alert,  has  already  been  down  to  the 
canoe,  which,  for  the  time,  had  been  entirely  deserted; 
finding  it  safe  enough  and  the  tide  already  turned,  he  has 
lost   no   time  in  striking  a  bargain  with  the  children. 


64 


KIN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


Then  laying  sticks  and  rushes  across  the  bottom,  where 
the  pack  is  to  be  placed,  he  calls  brightly  to  Tashekah 
and  their  father  to  come  and  jump  in  before  the  quickly 
ebbing  tide  leaves  the  passage  dry.  With  his  spring- 
ing, bounding  step  he  has  reached  them  by  the  time 
Kah-sha  has  gained  his  feet,  Tashekah  clinging  to  her 
father's  hand.  Then  throwing  his  lithe  young  body 
against  the  pack  which  had  been  the  father's,  Kasko 
rises  with  it  and  leads  the  way  to  the  canoe. 

Pleased  at  the  change,  Tashekah  nimbly  takes  her  place 
in  the  bottom  with  a  ladle  for  dipping,  and  without  dis- 
sent her  father  seats  himself  in  one  end,  while  Kasko 
places  the  pack  in  the  other,  and,  throwing  aside  the 
clothing  worn  by  the  trail,  he  wades  in,  takes  the  canoe 
by  the  after  part,  thus  guiding  and  pushing  the  little  old 
craft  down  and  out  with  the  tide. 

By  the  time  they  have  reached  the  open  water  Kah-sha 
is  quite  himself,  and,  as  he  takes  a  paddle,  Kasko  dives 
into  the  deeper  water,  washing  the  sand  from  his  limbs; 
then,  through  the  grass,  he  returns  to  the  children,  who 
are  standing  guard  over  his  dress  and  his  pack.  The 
members  of  his  party  who  kept  the  trail  have  moved  on 
and  are  now  seen  crossing  the  sand-flat  to  the  village. 
Thus  left  to  himself,  Kasko  determines  on  a  little  relaxa- 
tion. Throwing  himself  down  at  full  length  on  the  grass, 
he  raises  his  head  and  folds  his  arms  under  it,  question- 
ing: "What  are  they  doing  over  there,  youngsters?"  with 
a  movement  of  the  head  toward  their  village. 

"Nothing,"  comes  from  a  number  of  voices;  but  Kunz 
waits  to  say:  "Sleeping." 

"Well,  then,  what  have  they  done?  What  are  they 
going  to  do  ?     How  many  days  do  they  fast  ? " 

"I  heard  them  say  last  night  that  they  would  fast  for 
four  days."     This  from  Kunz  alone. 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


•is 


"  Ah !  then  burn  the  body  and  have  the  feast  on  the 
fifth ;  and  on  the  sixth  day  the  trading  party  goes  on. 
What  else?" 

"  Many  things  else.  Kood-wot's  wife  is  going  to  take 
Yealh-neddy ;  and  he  wants  Kotch-kul-ah,  too ;  and  Sha- 
hehe's  a  witch!'' 

"Sha-hehe  is  the  witch?  Ah!  "and  in  an  undertone: 
"  I  thought  it  was  only  her  blind  fright  that  drove  her  to 
the  dead-house  that  night;  but  it  must  have  been  that  she 
was  making  up  with  the  spirits  of  darkness.  Foolish 
girl !  they  will  bring  her  to  a  shameful  end."    Then: 

"Have  the 'above  people*  come  yet?"  meaning  the 
friends  from  the  upper  villages. 

"  Hadn't  come  when  we  left,  or  the  folks  wouldn't  have 
been  sleeping;  and  if  they've  come  since,  I  haven't 
Yealh's  eyes  to  see;  "  with  which  sententious  reply  Kunz 
took  a  somersault,  and  then,  with  feet  aloft,  a  few  steps 
on  his  hands;  when,  with  another  spring,  he  comes  again 
upon  his  feet,  and  shouting  to  the  other  children  to  come 
on,  he  and  soon  they  have  vanished,  except  for  a  por- 
poise-like motion  on  the  surface  of  the  sea  of  grass  and 
the  '*  wake  "  they  leave  behind  them  in  making  their  way 
to  the  woodland. 

The  sun  has  now  grown  hot.  and  as  Kasko  drops  his 
face  upon  his  folded  arms  he  becomes  conscious  only  of 
exceeding  physical  comfort ;  and  almost  helore  the  sounds 
of  the  child-voices  have  diedav^ay,  even  this  sense  of  feel- 
ing sleeps — deep,  restful,  drean  Jess  sleep. 

Meanwhile  Kah-sha  and  his  daughter,  also  their  friends 
by  the  trail,  have  arrived,  and  are  received  in  the  village, 
where  all  await  the  coming  of  the  mourning  friends  from 
up  the  river. 


T 


66 


KJN-DA'SHON' S    WIFE: 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


MOURN  IN  G     DAYS. 


TN  one  of  the  oldest  and  largest  houses  of  the  village 
Kutwulhtoo  live,  in  primitive  Kling-get  fashion,  the 
dead  chief's  father,  four  sisters,  their  respective  husbands 
and  families,  and  a  number  of  their  married  daughters 
with  husbands — and  children  also! 

In  one  of  the  corners,  arthest  from  the  door,  the  patri- 
arch reclines — sire  of  the  house — with  descendants  a  hun- 
dred or  more.  His  hair  is  thin  and  white;  his  face,  by 
reason  of  its  noble  nose  and  clear-cut  features,  whose  out- 
lines are  unbroken  by  any  beard,  is  still  a  striking  one; 
but  the  fire  which  once  lighted  the  eyes  and  moved  the 
man  has  died  out. 

As  he  lies  back,  half-sitting,  on  a  small  feather-bed, 
with  a  number  of  large  pillows  supporting  him,  he  is  em- 
ployed in  pinching  out  the  persistent  hairs  which  are  ever 
starting  from  his  cheeks  and  chin,  using  for  the  purpose 
a  pair  of  small  tweezers,  hammered  out  of  native  metal — 
an  implement  whose  counterpart  maybe  found  in  the  out- 
fit of  every  Kling-get  man;  it  is  worn  about  the  neck  on 
a  slender  leathern  guard,  and  so  hangs  on  the  breast  ready 
for  instant  use  in  moments  of  leisure. 

Near  the  old  man  is  his  wife,  preparing  his  morning 
meal — eggs  of  wild-fowl  and  fish-broth.  She  is  a  robust 
young  woman  of  about  twenty  years,  a  child  of  the  old 
man's  third  daughter.  As  the  father  is  always  of  the  op- 
posite  side  to  his  wife,  and  as  the  children  always  belong 
to  their  mother  and  her  tribe,  a  man  has  no  descendants— ^ 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


67 


none,  save  his  own  children,  whom  he  may  not  lawfully 
marry  and  there  seems  to  be  a  decided  preference  among 
the  Ivling-gets  for  partners  of  their  own  blood.  When 
old  Ka-dake's  first  wife  died  her  place  was  givn  to  the 
young  daughter  of  their  eldest  daughter.  This  young 
wife  bore  a  family  also,  and  died.  Her  place  was  then 
filled  by  a  daughter  of  the  next  in  order  of  the  old  wife's 
daughters;  she  too  was  mother  of  a  multitude,  and  died. 
The  present  wife  had  been  given  to  her  grandfather- 
husband  at  the  age  of  twelve  years;  and,  in  seclusion  now, 
is  the  twelve-year-old  Kalhga,  child  of  the  old  wife's 
fourth  daughter,  who  has  been  set  apart  for  her  grand- 
father in  case  his  present  wife  does  not  survive  him. 

Kalhga  is  not  alone  in  her  seclusion;  her  cousin,  Sha- 
wet-honga,  of  the  same  age  and  condition,  has,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  convenience,  been  allowed  t"  share  her  privations. 

In  this  house  is  no  platform  or  partitions;  the  one 
large,  open  room  is  common  to  all  the  families  that  com- 
prise its  household.  It  stands,  as  most  native  houses 
stand,  on  the  side  of  a  bluff  near  to  and  facing,  with  its 
single  small  door,  the  river  dashing  southward. 

Within  the  great,  dark  house,  in  the  wall  next  the  hill, 
is  a  small  opening,  rudely  fitted  with  a  heavy  door.  Near 
the  top  of  the  door  is  a  square  hole,  large  enough  for  the 
hand  or  a  small  dish  to  be  passed  through;  over  this 
opening  hangs  a  curtain  of  heavy  fringe,  made  of  leather, 
to  exclude  light  and  sight;  yet  it  admits  of  food  being 
passed  through — for  this  is  the  entrance  to  the  girls' 
prison. 

The  cave  itself — for  it  is  nothing  more — is  of  two  parts, 
neither  more  than  three  feet  high;  the  compartment  next 
the  great  room  is  two  and  a  half  feet  deep  by  three  and  a 
half  long,  and  to  prevent  the  earth  from  falling  in  it  has 
been  lined  with  rough-hewn  planks.     Opening  from  the 


68 


ICIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


back  of  this  room  is  the  other — simply  a  hole,  earti 
above,  below,  and  around — without  the  faintest  ray  of 
light.  It  was  into  this  hole — this grave^  first,  that  Kalhga 
and  Shawet-honga  were  thrust,  and  fastened  by  a  door  be- 
tween the  two  cells.  In  this  place  for  the  first  ten  days 
they  received  their  daily  supply  of  food  and  water,  in 
darkness  and  in  silence,  not  even  knowing  whose  hand 
passed  it  to  them.  Turn  which  way  they  might,  there 
was  not  room  to  straighten  their  bodies;  nor  can  they  even 
now,  in  this  outer  prison,  which  they  have  occupied  since 
the  first  stage  of  their  purification. 

But  these  girls  have  been  too  full  of  vigorous  life  to  be 
entirely  subdued  by  a  month  of  confinement  even  such  as 
this.  They  have  had  each  other's  company  and  could 
speak  to  each  other;  and  no  one,  unreduced  to  such  e.\- 
tremities,  could  imagine  the  many  ways  they  have  found 
to  relieve  the  tedium:  Story-telling,  with  their  heads 
close  together,  so  that  too  much  speech  might  not  be  re- 
proved by  their  elders  in  the  room  without;  guessing  rid- 
dles, making  images  of  fish,  birds,  and  animals  out  of  the 
soil,  scraped  with  their  fingers  from  the  wall  of  their  cave 
and  moistened  with  the  water  or  the  gummy  fish-broth 
brought  them  to  drink.  They  have  dreamed  dreams  and 
planned  exploits.  They  knew  that  their  prison-house 
door  was  to  remain  unopened  for  a  year  and  two  months, 
for  so  the  time  had  been  fixed.  Lately  they  have  been 
given  the  prepared  inner  bark  of  cedar  for  weaving  the 
coarser  baskets  for  household  use.  After  a  time,  when 
their  eyes  are  used  to  darkness  or  their  other  senses 
quickened  enough  to  do  without  light,  they  will  have  sew- 
ing to  do. 

L  it  all  this  does  not  mean  happy  contentment.  To 
endure  is  a  characteristic  of  the  people — to  endure  cheer- 
fully, at  leas/  uncomplainingly;  and  the  trait  is  largely 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


69 


due,  perhaps,  to  the  binding  of  their  babies  hand  and 
foot  for  much  of  the  first  year  of  life.  The  custom  cer- 
tainly does  beget  submission  and  develops  a  faculty  for 
making  the  best  of  circumstances. 

Kalhga  and  Shawet-honga  knew  that  it  was  now  the 
glorious  summer-time;  they  knew  that  the  birds  were 
singing  and  the  wild  rice  and  yan-a-ate  ready  to  gather; 
that  the  time  of  canoeing  and  sweet  out-door  life,  loved 
by  all  young  things,  had  come. 

They  had  sometimes  heard  the  voices  of  children  out- 
side in  happy,  gleeful  laughter;  once — they  could  tell  by 
the  sounds — they  were  playing  around  and  around  the 
house  at  a  game  of  tag.  That  was  while  the  girls  were 
scraping  down  the  wall  of  their  prison  for  material  for 
doll-making;  and  a  thought  came — a  thought  which  they 
hardly  dared  to  breathe  one  to  the  other;  but  once  spoken, 
the  thought  gradually  became  a  project.  They  could  do 
it — some  of  these  days  they  would  do  it.  They  would  dig 
out  of  that  place  for  t^//<? day's  fun  and  freedom;  they  knew 
it  could  hardly  be  more. 

Suddenly,  to-day,  the  girls  have  caught  the  sound  of 
some  unusual  noise  and  stir  in  the  family  room.  By  go- 
ing close  to  the  opening  and  holding  the  ear  against  the 
fringe,  they  hear  the  news  brought  by  the  messengers  from 
Yhin-da-stachy. 

The  message  is  received  by  the  family  with  many  tears 
and  much  loud  wailing,  which  soon  draws  to  the  house 
many  of  the  neighboring  families.  Notwithstanding  the 
excitement,  however,  very  f^oon  after  their  arrival  the 
messengers  are  served  by  the  slaves  of  the  house  with  the 
best  refreshment  which  the  day  affords.  Relay  messen- 
gers have  already  been  dispatched  to  Klok-won,  bearing 
the  news  to  Shans-ga-gate,  father  of  Kin-da-shon.  Nor  is 
there  any  time  lost  by  those  going  to  Yhia-da-stachy. 


70 


KIN-DA-SHOhTS    WIFE: 


Each  of  the  women,  both  great  and  small,  is  quickly  and 
skilfully  shorn  of  her  hair,  and  the  faces  of  the  entire 
household  are  painted  with  a  mixture  of  soot  and  oil.  As 
a  sign  also  of  their  sorrowful  and  broken  spirits  they 
clothe  themselves  in  their  poorest  garments,  soiled  and 
ragged,  though  they  must  have  with  them  their  very  best; 
straight  gowns  of  costly  Hudson  Bay  print;  leggings  and 
moccasins  of  embroidered  leather,  fine  as  chamois-skin, 
with  the  high-class  blankets  varying  in  style  from  the 
soft-dressed  robes  of  marten,  black  fox,  and  sea-otter  to 
the  more  modern  blanket  of  navy  blue  bordered  with 
scarlet  broadcloth,  and  ornamented  with  rows  on  rows  of 
the  finest  of  pearl  buttons,  set  close  on  the  inner  edge  of 
the  border.  The  materials  alone  for  one  of  these  blankets 
have  cost  several  hundreds  of  dollars. 

The  clothing,  together  with  carved  totem  dishes  and 
trays,  showing  their  family,  must  be  made  into  packs  and 
conveyed  to  the  canoes  ready  for  the  journey.  With  such 
preparations  all  are  busy,  until  theory  comes  from  those  on 
the  lookout  that  Shans-ga-gate's  canoe  has  been  sighted, 
when  they  repair  to  the  bank  of  the  stream,  and  with  one 
accord  send  out  the  cry  of  mourning  and  greeting  to  those 
whom  the  current  is  rapidly  bringing  toward  them;  and 
from  those  approaching  a  responsive  wailing  is  soon 
heard. 

Scarcely  a  moment's  pause  is  made  by  the  Klok-won 
canoe.  The  Kutwulhtoo  people  have  already  taken  their 
places  in  the  waiting  boats  and  are  holding  the  shore  with 
paddles  set  in  the  bank  until  Shans-ga-gatc's  has  ap- 
proached near  enough  to  fall  into  line;  then,  one  by  one, 
the  waiting  five  are  given  to  the  rushing  rapids  of  the 
narrow  channel,  and  all  are  afloat  in  processional  order. 

The  bed  of  the  Chilkat  River  is  several  miles  wide; 
after  making  something  of  a  bend  at  Klok-won  the  main 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


71 


body  of  water  is  thrown  against  the  eastern  shore,  which 
it  continues  to  follow  as  far  as  Yhin-da-stachy,  forming  a 
channel  narrow,  deep,  and  swift.  It  has  ploughed  throuj^^h 
the  sand  until  the  furrow  thrown  upon  its  western  side  has 
grown  into  a  series  of  islands,  now  covered  with  brightest 
verdure;  moss,  flowers,  shrubs,  and  even  trees  draw  life 
from  the  soil  and  insure  the  island's  own  existence. 

This  channel  will  ip'tirage  perhaps  thirty  feet  in  width, 
and  between  its  lovely  overhung  shores  makes  many  a  turn 
and  eddy.  Tiie  boatman's  constant  care  is  required  to 
keep  his  rapidly  moving  craft  in  free  stream  by  the  use 
of  poles.  'Tis  here  the  beautiful  salmon  trout  are  found 
in  such  countless  numbers. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  islands  the  lesser  body  of  water 
meanders  over  the  wide  wastes  of  sand,  forever  shifting 
its  shallow  channels,  by  which  all  ascents  of  the  river  are 
made  laboriously.  Often  the  boatman  runs  along  the 
sand,  drawing  after  him  his  lightened  canoe  with  a  rope; 
again,  where  the  depth  of  water  is  great  enough  to  admit 
of  his  weight  in  the  boat,  he  proceeds  by  poling. 

Ascending  the  river  thus,  by  light  boat,  often  requires 
two  or  three  days,  including  necessary  stops;  while  for 
tho  downward  trip  a  few  hours  suffice,  with  no  propelling 
force  save  the  water's  own. 

When  the  messengers  had  arrived  at  Klok-won  they 
found  Shans-ga-gate  with  preparations  almost  complete 
for  a  trip  to  Yhin-da-stachy;  but  it  had  been  planned 
with  a  very  different  end  in  view  from  that  for  which  he 
was  now  called.  Kin-da-shon,  though  he  had  many  sis- 
ters, was  the  only  son  of  his  parents,  and  his  prospects 
gave  them  much  concern.  That  he  should  be  chosen  by 
his  ancle  Kood-wot  as  his  successor  (though  not  a  sister's 
son),  and  thus  recommended  to  the  widow,  had  been  the 
first  ambition  of  Shans-ga-gate    and  Sha-ga-uk,  his  wife, 


72 


KJN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


in  thinking  of  the  future  and  its  changes,  not  dreaming 
this  change  so  near. 

Kin-da-shon's  honest  and  manly  ways  had  very  early 
made  him  a  favorite  with  his  uncle-chief,  beyond  the 
regard  he  had  for  any  of  his  sisters'  sons,  so  that  the 
parents'  hope  was  not  altogether  wild.  It  was  with  the 
desire  of  reaching  something  definite  on  this  point  that 
Shans-ga-gate  and  his  wife  had  determined  to  accompany 
their  son  to  Yhin-da-stachy  as  he  went  to  join  the  band 
of  traders  going  south.  That  very  day  they  were  to  go, 
that  they  might  have  a  few  days*  visit  before  the  party 
should  assemble. 

The  tidings  of  the  chief's  sudden  death,  coming  thus 
i»thwart  his  plans,  had  thrown  Shans-ga-gate  into  deepest 
gloom.  From  such  details  as  had  been  gleaned  from  the 
men  as  to  the  presence  of  Yealh-neddy  in  the  house  of 
death  and  the  widow's  evident  willingness  to  give  him 
the  place  of  her  husb^.nd,  they  knew  that  all  their  own 
plans  in  that  direction  were  worse  than  vain. 

Sha-ga-uk  was  t'  first  to  recover  from  the  shock  and 
to  spring  with  hope  tO  the  next  best  thing. 

"It  were  doubtful,"  she  said,  "that  Kin-da-shon  would 
think  gladly  on  the  old  wife,  anyway;  but  there  is  Kotch- 
kul-ah,  new  and  beautiful;  they  were  always  friends,  and 
her  hiding-time  is  even  now  at  an  end.  It  is  the  time  to 
ask  for  her,  and  when  Kin-da-shon  has  come  again  from 
his  trading  he  will  have  enough  to  take  her  with  of  his 
own.     That  is  good ;  that  is  best.     Let  us  get  off  at  once !  " 

It  was  some  time  before  Shans-ga-gate  warmed  to  his 
wife's  new  enthusiasm;  but  when  at  length  he  did  it  was 
with  no  half-heart  that  he  took  up  the  cause.  It  was  well ; 
he  would  be  satisfied. 

There  was  no  time  to  speak  of  the  matter  to  Kin-da- 
shon — they  must  be  off;  but  that  was  unimportant.     He 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


73 


would  be  pleased  enough;  and  if  he  were  not  just  at  first 
he  was  sure  to  be  in  time,  and  recognize  his  parents' 
wisdom  in  making  for  him  such  an  arrangement. 

They  were  soon  on  the  way,  and  in  a  short  time  had 
passed  Kutwulhtoo,  there  joining  the  other  mourners  as 
has  been  described. 

Neither  Shan~-ga-gate  nor  his  son  takes  active  part  in 
the  management  of  their  canoe  to-day.  Naturally  there 
is  but  little  speech  among  the  party;  each  is  busy  with 
his  own  thoughts.     Kin-da-shon  has  his. 

The  boy's  love-story  is  a  little  book  in  his  own  heart. 
To  the  child-woman,  Tashekah,  his  ideal  of  sweet  inno- 
cence and  beauty,  he  has  never  breathed  a  syllable  of  it. 
He  found  it  easier  to  speak  to  Kah-sha,  yet  even  to  him 
he  gave  but  a  sign.  He  has  been  thinking  much  of  what 
it  all  is  to  him  since  his  return  from  the  Stick  country, 
and  has  made  up  his  mind  that  as  opportunity  shall  open 
in  the  course  of  their  long  journey  he  will  open  his  heart 
to  the  father  of  Tashekah. 

There  will  be  time  enough,  he  thinks;  she  is  but  a 
bud-woman  yet,  and  when  they  come  back  from  their  trad- 
ing he  will  speak  to  his  mother,  that  the  necessary  arrange- 
ments maybe  made  for  their  engagement;  and  then,  after 
a  year  perhaps,  they  maybe  married,  and  he  will  live  with 
Kah-sha,  whom  he  loves,  and  with  Kasko — bright,  true 
Kasko — and  with  Tashekah,  sweetest  of  all. 

As  he  lies  against  his  pack  in  the  canoe,  gliding  through 
the  enchanting  channel,  now  with  closed  eyes  and  again 
absorbing,  half-unconsciously,  its  beauty,  he  is  dreaming 
of  these  things.  He  wonders  if  she  might  possibly  come 
over  with  her  father;  he  wonders  if  she  has  grown  or 
changed  much  since  he  saw  her  half  a  year  ago.  He  is 
certain  that  she  cannot  change  except  to  be  still  more 
lovely. 


.j^^ 


74 


KIN-DA  -  SHON  S    WIFE: 


"  My  little  one  I  my  little  one  with  the  fawn's  eyes  and 
ihe  heart  of  a  rice-flower — and  she  will  always  be  that  to 
me  I  "  he  murmurs  softly  to  himself. 

The  sun  has  not  yet  reached  its  northern  limit  when 
the  travellers  gain  a  view  of  Yhin-da-stachy,  all  aglow 
with  red  light  from  the  low  sun;  and  in  a  momeit  more 
they  are  greeted  by  the  wailing  cries  of  many  voices  pro- 
ceed'ing  from  the  house  of  the  dead,  where  news  of  the 
arrival  has  been  promptly  reported. 

As  soon  as  their  cry  has  been  heard  there  comes  a  quick 
response  from  those  in  the  boats,  and  the  united  voices  of 
both  parties  continue  their  loud  and  indescribably  doleful 
demonstrations  until  the  six  canoes  have  been  landed  and 
the  new-comers  have  entered  the  house.  Here,  gazing  on 
their  cold  and  silent  host  and  brother,  arrayed  in  all  his 
earthly  glory,  the  ceremonial  crying  is  mingled  with  the 
unmistakable  tears  and  sobs  of  grief. 

Gridually  the  people  grow  calm,  the  crying  is  hushed, 
and  the  new-comers  mix  with  the  friends  of  the  house, 
and  learn  in  low  conversations  all  that  has  taken  place 
in  connection  with  the  chief's  death. 

Shans-ga-gate  and  his  wife  were  not  long  in  learning 
now  their  plans  for  Kin-da-shon  had  been  frustrated.  The 
dislike  which  they  had  always  held  for  Yealh-neddy  in- 
creased in  bitterness;  and  for  the  widow-bride  also,  Shans- 
ga-gate's  half-sister,  they  felt  a  growing  resentment  which 
presaged  trouble.  Knowing  that  nothing  but  evil  could 
come  from  any  effort  on  their  part  now  to  change  the  de- 
cision of  the  family  in  regard  to  Kotch-kul-ah,  the  disap- 
pointed parents  soon  fell  into  a  sulien,  silent  brooding. 

Kin-da-shon  had  not  waited  to  hear  the  talk  in  the 
house;  he  had  been  really  attached  to  his  uncle-chief — 
brothers  their  tribal  relations  made  them.  As  he  had 
gazed  for  a  few  moments  at  the  still  and  stiffened  form  of 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY, 


75 


him  he  loved,  he  w.'ts  choked  with  sobs;  then,  with  boyish 
instinct,  fled  from  the  crowd,  seeing  no  one. 

He  cared  not  which  way  he  took — he  wished  only  to  be 
alone.  The  house  stood  near  the  end  of  the  village  next 
the  trail  to  the  meadows  and  the  woodland  beyond,  which 
seemed  to  offer  the  most  ready  escape;  and  with  long, 
quick  strides  Kin-da-iihon  took  this  path. 

He  had  but  passed  the  house,  when,  even  occupied  as  he 
was  with  his  own  emotions,  his  attention  was  caught  by 
the  low,  agonized  groans  of  Sha-hehe.  Suddenly,  with 
the  recognition  of  the  whereabouts  of  the  witch,  came  the 
mingled  feelings  of  horror  at  her  fearful  league  with 
devils,  the  keen  personal  .a^rief  it  had  brought  to  himself, 
the  loss  to  the  whole  people  in  the  death  of  so  good  a 
chief,  and  the  consequent  succession  to  his  power  of  a 
reprobate  like  Yealh-neddy,  who  would  never  hesitate  to 
sacrifice  the  good  of  the  people  to  his  own  selfish  ends. 
No  one  could  tell  where  th^evil  might  stop — it  n^xtr  could 
be  stopped  unless  witchcraft  were  made  more  and  more 
terrible,  so  that  weak  and  evil  persons  would  be  more 
fearful  of  the  torture  than  of  the  evil  spirits  who  drove 
them  to  such  deeds  of  darkness. 

In  the  mind  of  Kin-da-shon  there  was  no  doubt  at  this 
moment  that  the  witch  was  suffering  more  torment  f:  ^m 
the  devil,  whose  influence  she  had  in  an  evil  hour  yielded 
herself  to,  than  from  anything  which  had  been  inflicted 
by  her  friends;  he  believed  that  neither  she  nor  the  com- 
munity could  find  rest  from  this  destroying  spiri*  's  awful 
power  until  her  blood  had  been  shed.  With  the  loss  of 
each  life-drop  the  demon's  possession  would  be  dimin- 
ished; and  then,  if  she  would  but  arise  with  honest 
strength  of  purpose,  «hy  might  she  i>ot  cast  off  his  evil 
influence  entirely? 

UnconscioiiN'y  Kin-da-shon  had  stopped   in    the  path 


7^ 


KIN-DA-SJION'S    WIFE: 


just  where  the  sound  of  her  groanings  had  first  reached 
him.  The  force  of  these  thoughts  had  held  his  steps;  now 
his  hand  was  on  the  knife  in  his  girdle,  and  without  a 
moment's  hesitation  he  sprang  to  the  side  of  the  witch, 
and  with  flash-like  movements  drew  the  keen  edge  of  the 
blade  across  the  girl's  arm  and  thigh — once — twice — with 
the  expression  of  one  set  on  a  revolting  task.  The  blood 
streamed  out,  and,  flowing  down  over  the  bruised  and  net- 
tle-stung body,  entered  the  hard  bed  of  earth  beneath. 

Kin-da-shon's  face  was  ashen  white.  The  sensitive 
mouth,  which  had  been  throughout  the  deed  set  in  hard, 
rigid  lines  of  desperate  determination,  now  fell  into  a 
piteous  quiver,  and,  with  a  moan  scarcely  less  agonized 
than  Sha-hehe'shad  been,  bedashed  down  the  path  toward 
the  meadows.  Reaching  a  point  where  the  rushes  grew 
rank  and  high,  he  left  the  path,  and  diving  into  the 
thicket,  threw  himself  down  with  his  face  to  the  earth, 
utterly  overcome  with  the  reaction  which  his  gentle  nature 
was  undergoing  after  the  strain  of  forced  hardness.  So 
strong  and  yet  so  weak,  so  hard  and  yet  so  tender,  so  cruel 
and  yet  so  loving! 

Before  the  arrival  of  the  canoes  from  up  the  river  Kah- 
sha  had  grown  restless  at  Kasko's  slow  coming,  and  had 
sent  Tashekah,  as  much  for  her  sake  as  his  own,  to  run 
along  the  trail  and  learn  the  cause  of  his  delay. 

Kaskowas  still  asleep  with  hisbrown  face  on  his  folded 
arms  when  Tashtkaii  came  up.  At  the  sight  of  him  her 
face  lighted  with  pleasore  and  a  mischievous  twinkle  in 
the  bright  eyes.  Softly  she  seated  herself  at  his  back, 
just  near  entnigh  to  reach  his  ear,  or  cheek,  or  noL>e,  with 
the  sftd  end  of  ti  long  stalk  of  the  blue  grass  growing 
{ii)out  them  so  luxuriantly, 

Sifting  perfectly  still,  she  began  to  sing  a  buzz-fly  sung, 
very  soft  and  low  at  first,  but  coming  nearer  by  rounds 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


77 


and  rounds,  as  though  on  wing;  at  the  louder,  close  ap- 
proaches she  touched  his  face  with  the  delicate,  tickling 
grass,  laughing  inwardly  to  see  him  stir,  s<iuirm,  strike 
at  the  offending  insect,  while  the  uninterrupted  buzz  grew 
fainter  and  more  faint  again. 

After  much  of  such  annoyance  Kasko  turned  over  on 
his  back,  and  clasping  his  hands  under  his  head  and  draw- 
ing up  his  knees  into  comfortable  fashion,  gave  vent  to  a 
prolonged,  waking  sigh,  at  which  his  laughing  sister 
leaned  over  and  looked  him  in  the  face. 

"Oh!  you  little  sand-fly!  how  came  you  to  me  to  bite? 
Wasn't  there  enough  to  eat  over  there  in  the  village?" 

"  Not  of  what  I  like;  you  know  they  don't  allow  us  to 
cat  anything  sweet  or  anything  out  of  the  salt  water, 
and  that's  just  what  I  wani  now,  and  the  only  thing  I 
shall  want  till  the  fast  is  over;  then  I  shan't  at  all 
care." 

"Well,  if  that's  your  cast,  sittle  Contrary,  you  had  bet- 
ter call  yourself  a. gro7un-up  and  eat  nothing  for  four  days." 

"Oh,  no,  brother  mine;  not  just  yet;  it's  hard,  very, 
to  eat;  but  I'll  be  strong  .o  do  it,"  was  the  laughing 
reply. 

"Say,  have  the  'up  above'  folks  come  yet,  Tashekah?" 

"They  hadn't  rome,  but  I  heard  the  shout  and  then  the 
crying  just  after  I  crossed  the  sand;  they  are  in  the  house 
some  time  now." 

"Then  you  didn't  see  Kin-da-shon?" 

"No." 

"Well,  let  us  go;  I  want  to  see  him." 

Having  tied  his  kerchief  turban-fashion  about  his  head, 
Kasko  adjusted  his  pack  and  took  up  the  march,  with 
Tashekah  and  his  blanket  bringing  up  the  njar. 

They  had  not  proceeded  far  when  they  heard  a  call, 
and  looking  back  saw  ^he  troop  of  children  just  entering 


78 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


the  trail  from  the  woodland.  Their  out-runners  soon 
overtook  the  brother  and  sister,  and  all  went  on  together, 
laughing  and  chatting  by  the  way. 

Thus  they  pass  within  hearing  of  Kin-da-shon,  still 
prostrate.  He  has  lain  like  a  stone  except  for  the  occa- 
sional nervous  shiverings  which  come  as  ague  chills.  The 
voices  of  Tashekah  and  her  brother  arc  the  first  call  to 
life;  they  rouse  him  from  what  he  thinks  must  have  been 
almost  death.  He  is  numb,  stiff,  and  cold;  yet  now  comes 
a  tingling  sensation  throughout  his  body,  and  with  some 
effort  he  pulls  himself  up  into  a  sitting  posture. 

He  will  speak — call  Kasko;  but  as  the  word  is  forming 
on  his  lips  he  hears  the  other  voices — the  children's — and 
he  shrinks  back  into  the  grass  until  they  have  passed. 

As  the  little  party  enters  the  village  the  people  are 
gathering  to  the  house  of  mourning  for  the  evening's  cere- 
mony— the  smoking,  the  rehearsal  of  the  old  chief's  great- 
ness, the  recalling  of  his  virtues,  and  the  bewailing  his 
death. 

The  widow  has  taken  her  place  near  the  corpse,  and  her 
tribal  friends  soon  fill  that  side  of  the  room. 

Near  the  chief's  body,  on  the  other  side,  are  his  sisters 
and  brothers  and  their  tribal  friends.  The  great  house  is 
soon  filled.  The  faces  of  all  are  black,  but  the  painting 
of  the  men  is  hideous — it  is  black,  broken  with  streaks  of 
Vermillion. 

Kush-kwa,  chief  of  the  widow's  tribe,  is  master  of  cere- 
monies until  after  the  cremation  of  the  body,  when  the 
new  chief  will  begin  his  administration  with  the  feast 
which  is  to  make  all  the  nujuiueis  glad  again.  When 
all  are  seated  in  silence,  at  a  signal  from  Kash  -  Kwa 
a  large  carved  box  is  placed  before  him  by  Ka-tah-wa, 
a  fifteen  -  year  -  old  nepliew  of  the  dead  chief.  It  is 
filled  with   pipes   of  grotesque   designs.      Selecting  one  of 


AN^  ALASKAN'   STORY. 


79 


very  large  size,  the  chief  jjives  it  to  Ka-tah-wa,  who, 
kneeling,  fills  it  with  tobacco  from  the  tray  with  which 
his  cousin  Chan-ka  has  followed  him. 

Chan-ka  had  placed  the  tray  near  the  box  of  pipes,  and 
now  turns  with  a  handful  of  little  resinous  sticks  toward 
the  low  fire;  picking  up  a  small  coal  in  his  fingers,  he  ap- 
plies one  of  his  lighters,  and  with  a  long,  slow  blow,  has 
it  quickly  ignited.  Ka-tah-wa  has  placed  the  large  pipe 
in  his  mouth  and  draws,  while  Chan-ka  holds  the  light  to 
the  tobacco.  As  soon  as  it  is  going  the  pipe  is  given  to 
Kush-kwa,  the  chief,  who,  sitting  still,  smokes  for  some 
time — smokes  slowly,  vigorously,  and  silently;  then  in 
the  same  silent  way  passes  it  to  the  man  of  highest  rank 
in  the  dead  chief's  tribe,  who  smokes  it  in  like  manner 
and  passes  it  on.  In  this  way  the  sign  of  sympathetic 
fellowbhip  is  given.  While  the  chief's  great  pipe  is  thus 
passing  from  one  to  another  of  the  mourners,  arranged 
always  ir:  order  of  caste,  the  boys  are  filling  the  other 
pipes,  placing  them,  as  they  are  made  ready,  on  another 
large  carvsd  tray. 

When  the  great  pipe  has  been  smoked  by  the  head  men 
all  and  at  last  reaches  Kush-kwa  again,  Ka-tah-wa  takes 
up  the  tray  and  serves  a  pipe  to  each  adult  in  the  house, 
Chan-ka  following  with  the  lights,  and  in  a  short  time  all 
are  engaged  in  this  voiceless  offering. 

When  Kush-kwa's  pipe  is  finished  it  is  replaced  in  the 
box  by  Ka-tah-wa,  and  the  chief,  with  a  few  preliminary 
beats  on  the  floor  with  his  long,  carved  walking-stick, 
sends  out  the  introductory  notes  of  the  chant.  The  time- 
beat  is  taken  up  immediately  by  the  other  men  with  sticks, 
and  with  bows  so  bent  under  the  foot  that  one  end,  guided 
by  the  hand,  springs  to  the  floor  v/ith  just  the  power  de- 
sired, low  or  loud.  The  leader  now  in  wailing  minor 
notes,  with  strange  but  perfect  rhythm,  recounts  the  scenes 


8o 


A'm.DA.SHON'S    WIFE: 


of  the  accident  and  its  sad  sequel;  now  and  again  from 
out  the  audience  comes  a  response — an  ejaculation — flow- 
ing into  the  unbroken  speech  of  the  leader  as  water  into 
water. 

As  the  story  reaches  its  close  the  strain  is  lifted  by  a 
hundred  voices;  the  women  sway  to  and  fro,  beating  on 
their  breasts  and  joining,  in  more  shrill  tones,  the  heavy 
voices  of  the  men  in  the  chanting,  wailing  cry.  Every 
surprise  of  contortion  and  sound  renders  the  cadence  more 
clear,  the  rhythm  more  pronounced.  Tears  flow — rather 
they  .^"//^/z — from  every  eye,  as  though  controlled  by  auto- 
matic flood-gates;  for,  having  reached  the  point  where 
the  next  speaker  takes  up  the  genealogy  of  the  deceased 
chief,  his  story  flowing  smoothly  out  of  the  chorus  with- 
out break  or  interruption,  every  eye  is  dry,  and,  in  the 
most  matter-of-fact  manner  and  every-day  tone  of  voice, 
one  woman  asks  another  for  her  wad  of  spruce  chewing- 
gum  or  ground  tobacco  and  bark  snuff. 

The  children  have  been  crowded  in  among  the  women, 
and  their  piping  little  voices  have  joined  in  the  crying  of 
the  people. 

Tashekah  has  found  herself  pressed  on  one  side  by  Sha- 
ga-uk,  Kin-da-shon's  mother,  and  on  the  other  by  Sa-allie, 
the  wife  of  Ka-kee,  the  medicine-man. 

Sa-allie's  face  is  not  at  all  like  her  husband's;  it  is 
round  and  rosy,  though  its  roses  are  hidden  just  now  by 
the  black  paint;  it  is  fat  and  laughing,  except  just  while 
the  crying  lasts. 

In  her  capacious  lap  she  holds  two  nursing  children, 
one  not  yet  two  years  old,  the  other  about  four. 

The  sweet,  simple,  but  womanly  manners  of  Tashekah 
have  quite  won  the  hearts  of  both  the  children  and  their 
mother,  while  the  soft,  motherly  ways  of  Sa-allie  have 
warmed  the  heart  of  the  motherless  girl.     It  is  not  long 


AN   ALASKAN   STORY, 


8i 


until  the  four-year-old  Ch-one  slides  sleepily  into  the 
jjirl's  lap,  and  she,  glad  at  his  confidence,  softly  caresses 
the  boy,  covering  him,  as  heavier  sleep  falls,  with  a  part 
of  her  own  blanket. 

Before  the  night's  performance  closes,  Sa-allie  has 
reached  a  very  important  conclusion,  and  has  formed  a 
plan  which,  if  carried  out,  means  much  to  Tashekah  and 
still  more  to  Kin-da-shon;  but  of  this  Sa-allie  knows 
nothing. 

To  Sha-ga-uk,  preoccupied  with  her  own  disappoint- 
ment and  resentment,  Tashekah  was  simply  one  of  the 
many  children  about  whom  she  knew  little  and  cared 
nothing.  Absorbed  in  her  thoughts  for  her  son,  Kin-da- 
shon  himself  was  unmissed,  and  when,  late  in  the  evening, 
he  wedged  himself  into  the  outer  circle  of  the  crowd 
within  the  house,  he  was  as  unnoticed  by  his  mother  as  by 
Tashekah.  Kin-da-shon,  on  the  contrary,  saw  them  both, 
and  the  sight — seated  as  they  were,  as  if  of  one  house — 
filled  his  heart  with  a  gladness  that  for  the  time  crowded 
out  the  bitterness  which  so  lately  had  bowed  him  to  the 
earth. 

The  night's  rehearsal  is  closing  now  with  the  calling  of 
the  names  of  all  living  relatives  to  the  departed  chief. 
Throughout  the  night  one  after  another  of  his  friends 
has  taken  up  the  story  of  his  exploits,  always  in  time  with 
the  continued  monotonous  rise  and  fall  of  the  beating 
sticks  and  bows,  intermingled  with  the  wailing  of  the 
mourners. 

Morning  now  brings  the  dispersement  of  the  people, 
.".id  to  them  the  sleep  of  exhaustion,  with  no  breaking  of 
li'sir  fast. 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

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9 


8a 


KIN.DA,SffON'S    WIFE: 


CHAPTER    IX. 


CROSS-PURPOSES. 

*'  '"pO   take  another  wife  has  been  long  in  your  heart, 

"'•  my  husband.  Why?"  Ka-kee  is  no  little  sur- 
prised at  the  question.  He  has  several  times  in  the 
course  of  their  married  life  spoken  of  taking  an  assistant 
for  his  wife,  but  she  met  the  suggestion  always  with  in- 
difference, or  with  a  touch  of  ridicule  or  anger. 

Circumstances  have  not  wholly  favored  his  scheme,  and 
his  domestic  relations  have  been  so  entirely  comfortable 
that  he  has  hesitated  about  increasing  his  importance  at 
the  cost  of  peace. 

It  is  near  the  close  of  the  fourth  day  of  mourning  for 
Chief  Kood-wot  that  Sa-allie,  after  much  deliberation  and 
growing  self-approval,  has  entered  on  the  task  of  appear- 
ing to  yield  to  her  husband's  ambition,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  shrewdly  bring  about  just  what  she  herself  now 
most  truly  desires. 

"So  much  you  have  talked  about  this  thing  I'd  like  to 
know  what  you  want  a  wife  for.  Is  it  because  I  don't 
scold  enough?  If  that  is  it  you  will  never  have  to  ask 
for  any  more  of  the  sweet  bitterness — if  you  vvill  just  take 
a  wife  who  will  bring  plenty  of  blankets  with  her.  She 
won't  let  any  of  us  forget  that  she  brought  them,  and  it 
won't  be  long,  either,  before  she  will  think  she  brought 
us  all  we  have.     Is  it  a  rich  wife  you  want,  Ka-kee? " 

"No;  I  can't  say  that  I  have  thought  so  much  of  what 
she  would  bring  me,"  hesitatingly  answered  the  husband. 

"Is  it  for  work? — for  gaining  trade  with  the  Stick  peo- 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


8- 


ple,  maybe?  I  say,  Ka-kee,  her  friends  will  give  you 
more  trouble  than  the  trade  is  worth,  and  they  will  cost 
you  more  than  she  can  ever  gain  for  you." 

"  I  know  that.  I  would  not  have  a  Stick  woman,  but  a 
man  is  worth  more  among  his  own  people  if  he  has  more 
than  one  wife;  and  if  she  were  of  the  right  sort,  Sa-allie, 
she  would  be  a  help  to  you — with  the  children,  and  your 
yarn-making  and  basket- weaving,  and  all  common  work,  so 
that  you  would  have  more  time  for  your  dancing-blankets. 
It  is  not  every  woman  who  can  do  the  beautiful  work  that 
j'ou  can;  and  you  ought  not  to  have  the  mean  work,"  he 
added  flatteringly. 

"Well,  where /V  one  of  the  right  sort?  I'd  like  to  see 
her,"  says  the  wife  complacently, 

"  I  haven't  seen  her  yet,  myself;  at  least,  not  that  I  am 
sure  of,"  the  medicine-man  made  reply.  "It  might  be 
best  to  take  a  young  one  and  bring  her  up  to  our  liking." 

"And  to  have  any  help  with  the  children  I  should  say 
it  v/ould  be  just  as  well  not  to  wait  till  they  are  all 
grown  up." 

As  Sa-allie  speaks,  her  son  Kunz  appears  in  the  door- 
way— the  ready-tongued,  laughing-eyed  Kunz,  leader 
among  the  children  of  the  village,  with  his  baby  brother 
on  his  back  and  humming  a  gay  little  tune  as  he  comes. 

"What  a  great,  tall  fellow  Kunz  is  growing  to  be!  It 
won't  be  long  that  he  will  carry  babies,"  proudly  sighs 
the  mother. 

"  No:  but  it  will  be  because  the  babies  are  all  men,  if 
they  grow  as  fast  as  this  one.  Neh!  but  he's  a  heavy 
one!  "  and  he  swings  him  down  to  the  mother's  lap. 

"Where  is  your  brother  Ch-one,  Kunz?" 

''  Oh,  we  ran  against  Kah-sha's  girl  down  by  the  rocks, 
so  she  and  Ch-one  smiled  at  each  other,  and,  like  two  ice- 
bergs touching,  nothing  can  part  them  again." 


84 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


"  Where  are  they  now  ? " 

*'  Sitting  down  there,  where  the  tide  has  left  the  beach 
clean,  I  wish  we  had  a  sister  like  her!  I  wouldn't  mind 
staying  with  her  myself." 

Ka-kee  glances  at  his  wife  with  a  keenly  alert  expres- 
sion, but  nothing  in  her  placid  face  betrays  her  interest. 
She  is  only  saying,  with  a  smile,  to  Kunz: 

"But  Kasko's  sister  you  do  mind  staying  with?  Well, 
didn't  the  baby  want  to  stay,  either?" 

"  That's  just  it.  He's  the  one  that  didn't  want  to  stay, 
because  he  needs  to  eat;  but  I  left  my  heart  down  there. 
I'm  going  back  to  hear  another  story.  She's  telling 
Ch-one  many  things  old,  but  her  tongue  seems  new.  I 
like  to  lie  on  the  sand  and  listen:  her  voice  is  like  the 
robins  in  the  new  of  the  year." 

With  this  the  boy  is  off  again;  with  light,  fleet  steps  he 
soon  reaches  the  group  of  children  on  the  low,smooth  beach. 

Tashekah,  in  the  abandon  so  loved  by  the  native,  lies 
lengthwise,  digging  her  toes  into  the  warm  sand,  her  dark 
and  shining  head  uplifted  as  she  rests  on  her  elbows,  play- 
ing with  a  stray  bit  of  sea-weed  and  the  cockle-shells 
which  Ch-one's  chubby  hands  have  gathered. 

Ch-one  lies  quite  near  the  story-teller,  losing  not  a 
word.  A  number  of  other  boys  and  girls  are  gathered 
about  in  various  attitudes  of  comfortable  enjoyment. 

"Tell  more!"  and  "Yes!  tell  another!"  they  are  clam- 
oring as  Kunz  comes  within  hearing. 

"Wait  till  my  five  ears  get  there,"  he  shouts. 

"Five?  Where  do  you  keep  them?"  laughingly  they 
demand. 

"Well,  I've  got  just  as  many  as  any  of  you;  and  you're 
all  listening  with  mouth  and  eyes  as  well  as  with  the 
things  on  the  sides  of  your  heads.  Go  on,  Tashekah ;  tell 
about  the  owl — how  she  came  to  be  a  witch." 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


85 


In  a  simple,  elder-sister  fashion,  the  girl  takes  up  the 
story. 

"  Ch-au-k,  long,  long  ago,  in  the  place  of  the  Sitka 
people,  an  old  blind  woman  lived  with  her  son  and  his 
wife. 

"They  had  no  garden;  the  medicine-spirit  kept  the  fish 
from  running,  and  there  was  only  a  little  to  eat  in  all  the 
country.     All  the  people  were  hungry. 

"  Every  day  the  young  man  went  to  hunt  or  to  fish,  and 
found  nothing.  He  was  almost  starved,  and  his  old 
mother  was  hardly  kept  alive  by  the  roots  and  few  berries 
they  could  find.  But  all  this  time  the  young  wife  kept 
iHt  and  well;  nobody  knew  what  gave  her  flesh  and 
stiength. 

*'  In  the  night,  when  the  old  woman  would  wake  from 
sleep  because  her  food-bag  was  eating  her  up,  she  would 
say  to  her  son's  wife: 

"  'What  have  you  got  there  to  eat  ? ' 

"'Nothing,'  she  told  her  husband's  mother. 

"'Oh,  yes,  you  have;  I  smell  fish,  and  I  hear  its  grease 
dropping  on  the  fire. ' 

"'No,  you  don't,'  the  daughter  would  answer.  Then 
the  old  woman  would  lie  quite  still  and  seem  to  sleep, 
till  she  heard  the  sounds  again.  Then  she  sat  up  and 
looked  hard  with  her  poor  blind  eyes,  and  asked  again: 

"  'What  are  you  eating  ?  You  have  fish ;  I  hear  you  eat- 
ing it.' 

"'No,  I'm  only  chewing  gum,'  the  young  woman  said." 

"What  was  she  eating,  Tashekah?"  asks  Ch-one. 

"Wait  a  little  and  I'll  tell  you.  She  had  witches' 
power,  and  always,  when  it  got  to  the  middle  of  the  night, 
she  went  to  some  rocks  that  hung  over  the  sea.  Close  to 
the  edge  she  went,  with  branches  from  the  alder  trees,  and 
swept  them  back  and  forth  before  her ;  she  crossed  them 


86 


KJN-DA-SHON'  S    WIFE: 


and  crossed  them  back  again — this  way;  and  the  little 
herring,  that  were  so  afraid  they  hid  in  the  bottom  of  the 
sea  where  nobody  could  get  them,  felt  her  strength  and 
couldn't  help  coming  to  the  top  of  the  water.  Then 
when  they  saw  the  witch-woman  standing  there,  with  her 
hair  all  hanging  long  about  her,  and  the  tree  boughs  wav- 
ing to  and  fro  with  more  and  more  power,  they  leaped 
from  the  water  and  flung  themselves  at  her  feet.  She  then 
put  them  into  her  basket  and  took  them  home.  She  put 
them  on  the  sticks  and  set  them  up  to  roast  by  the  fire. 

"  When  they  were  cooked  she  ate  all  she  wanted  and 
went  to  sleep. 

"  This  was  the  way  things  went  on  for  a  long  time,  till 
one  night  the  old  woman's  questions  and  cries  for  food 
made  her  son's  wife  so  angry  that  she  snatched  a  fish  from 
the  stick,  tore  out  its  burning  entrails,  and  ran  to  the  old 
woman,  saying,  'Hold  your  hand;  you  shall  have  some;' 
and  she  took  the  shaking  old  hand,  filled  it  with  the  bad 
hot  stuff,  and  strongly  held  it  shut  in  her  own,  till  the 
hand  was  burned  to  the  bone. 

"  The  young  man  had  been  out  all  night  trying  to  find 
food.  When  he  came  home  in  the  morning  he  asked  his 
wife  what  made  his  mother  sit  crying  so.  'She  did  not 
know,'  she  said. 

"He  did  not  believe  her  words,  and  his  heart  was  to 
ask  his  mother;  so  he  said  to  his  wife: 

"'I'm  going  hunting  again;  go  you  to  the  woods  and 
get  bark  lining  to  tie  my  arrow-heads  with.' 

"  While  she  was  gone  the  old  woman  told  h'ir  son  all 
her  troubles,  and  he  soon  knew  what  to  do. 

"  When  his  wife  came  back  with  the  bark  strings  he 
took  his  bow  and  started  off  in  his  canoe  as  if  he  must  go 
a  Jong  way  from  home.  But  as  soon  as  he  got  around  a 
bend  in  the  shore,  so  the  village  eyes  could  not  reach  him, 


AN   ALASKAN   STORY. 


87 


he  went  ashore  and  hid  his  boat  in  the  brshes.     He  went 
into  the  deeper  woods  till  the  day  should  go  to  sleep. 

"At  last  the  night  came,  and  he  c-ept  out  and  along  the 
iihore  to  a  place  where  he  could  see  the  village  when  the 
moon  made  light. 

"  About  the  middle  of  the  night  the  moon  was  bright 
and  full,  and  he  could  see  his  bad  wife  leave  their  house 
and  go  swiftly  to  the  rocks.  He  watched  her  through  all 
her  evil  work,  and  softly  followed  her  back  to  the  house. 
He  saw  her  cook  her  fish  and  eat  them.  He  heard  his 
mother  cry  for  one  mouthful  of  food,  and  heard  his  wife's 
hateful,  lying  words. 

'*  Then,  without  making  any  sign,  he  went  back  to  his 
canoe.  He  caught  a  hair  seal  the  next  day  and  he  took 
it  home.  He  made  his  wife  eat  so  much  of  the  fat  that 
she  went  into  a  sound  sleep.  She  slept  so  hard  that  when 
the  night-time  came  she  could  not  wake  up. 

"  It  was  nearly  morning  when  her  husband  shook  her, 
and  told  her  to  go  down  to  the  canoe  and  bring  up  the 
fish  that  he  had  just  brought  home. 

"  He  had  stolen  her  witch  power  and  went  to  the  rocks. 
He  took  a  canoeful  of  fish  while  she  was  sleeping. 

"  His  wife  was  weak  and  angry.  She  went  down  to  the 
canoe  without  any  baskets,  and  sat  down  on  the  beach  like 
a  heavy  cloud. 

"Then  she  called  to  her  husband  to  send  the  baskets 
down,  and  her  voice  was  very  weak  when  she  called.  Her 
husband  wouldn't  send  the  baskets,  and  she  wouldn't  go 
to  get  them;  so  she  sat  all  day  on  the  sand. 

"  That  night,  when  the  moon  got  big,  the  woman  started 
toward  the  mountain.  She  was  going  to  follow  the  canyon 
to  the  top ;  but  when  she  got  to  a  big  rock  she  sat  down 
to  rest,  and  all  at  once  she  turned  into  an  owl — the  nasty, 
hateful,  ugly  thing! 


88 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


"  It  sleeps  all  day  and  all  night  it  works  bad  things, 
and  tells  everybody,  'Your  father's  a  witch — your  father's 
a  witch!  '  That's  the  reason  that  men  and  women  talk 
back  strong  words  to  it,  and  say,  'Oh,  you  shut  up  your 
throat!     You  burnt  your  mother's  fingers!'  " 

*'  Is  all  the  owls  that  bad  woman,  Tashekah  ? "  queried 
little  Ch-one. 

"Yes,  all  of  them.     They  got  bad  spirit — witch  spirit." 

"Will  they  hurt  Ch-one,  sure — true?  "he  asks  again, 
with  wide-open  eyes. 

"Yes.  They  always  want  to  hurt  every  little  child; 
they  are  too  big  cowards  to  hurt  big  men  and  women. 
He  just  gives  them  bad  talk,  and  he  comes  to  their  house- 
trees  and  cries.  Everybody  runs  out  to  stop  his  telling 
that  somebody  is  going  to  die — but  just  the  same  he  knows 
everything," 

"Yes,  and  he's  a  big  thief,  too.  It's  just  like  he  hides 
things  under  his  blanket,  then  shuts  his  eyes,  just  as  if  he 
never  waked  up  at  all.  He's  just  full  of  lies — no  good 
words  in  him!  "  says  Kunz,  looking  up  at  his  father,  whose 
curiosity  has  brought  him  out  in  search  of  the  children, 
and  among  whom  he  has  seated  himself  with  much  ease. 

"Whose  name  is  that  you've  hung  in  the  smoke,  my 
son  ? "  Ka-kee  asks.     "  The  Raven's  ? " 

"  No;  not  the  Raven's  this  time,"  replies  the  boy;  "only 
the  owl's." 

"  Oh !  you  can't  make  him  worse  than  he  is,  the  coward! 
He  wants  every  boy  and  girl  he  sees.  His  witch  power 
catches  them  when  they  go  out  of  the  house  at  night;  he 
turns  their  hearts  upside  down,  and  if  nobody  saves  he 
takes  them  off  to  die.  But  the  great  medicine-spirit  gives 
me  charms  for  all  things,  you  know;  that's  all  that  can 
save  any  from  death-spirits  that  are  everywhere  hungry 
for  life." 


\  ' 


AN  ALAS/CAN   STORY. 


89 


As  he  speaks  the  medicine-man  fixes  his  snaky  eyes  on 
Tashekah,  who  at  first  shrinks  and  drops  her  eyes;  then, 
with  no  less  horror  or  shrinking,  meets  his  gaze  with  a 
yielding  as  to  power  supernatural.  She  longs  to  get  away, 
yet  she  seems  powerless  to  move.  She  longs  unutterably 
for  her  father  to  come,  or  even  Kasko;  but,  for  all  ap- 
pearance of  life  about  the  village  above,  every  one  there 
may  be  as  dead  as  Kood-wot  himself. 

One  by  one  the  other  children,  finding  that  Tashekah 
will  entertain  them  no  more,  betake  themselves  to  other 
scenes  of  interest.  But  Ch-one,  jumping  to  his  feet,  puts 
out  his  baby  hands  and  grasps  hers,  saying: 

'*  Come,  good  girl ;  come  with  Ch-one  and  find  more 
cockles.     Ch-one  wants  you — come!  " 

Eagerly,  and  not  without  fear  of  being  detained,  Ta- 
shekah rises  to  her  feet  and  follows  whither  the  child  may 
lead. 

Ka-kee  has  no  desire  to  prevent  this;  indeed,  he  is  best 
pleased  to  have  her  go,  giving  him  thus  the  opportunity 
of  seeing  her  as  she  walks  away  along  the  beach,  strong, 
erect,  and  free-footed. 

"  By  the  ravens!  it's  a  piece  of  good  luck  for  me.  In  a 
year  or  two  she  will  be  as  fine  a  woman  as  any  in  the 
Chilkat  country.  I  must  lose  no  wind  that  can  fill  my 
sails.  Kah-sha  leaves  after  to-morrow's  feast.  I'll  talk 
with  him  before  he  goe?.."  So  determines  the  medicine- 
man, rising  now  to  join  the  crowd  already  moving  toward 
the  house  of  Kood-wot  for  the  last  night  of  mourning  pre- 
ceding the  burning  of  the  body. 

The  house  is  soon  filled,  and  the  business  for  which  the 
company  has  assembled  is  conducted  exactly  as  it  has  been 
during  the  three  evenings  previous. 

During  these  days  and  nights  that  have  intervened  since 
Kotch-kul-ah  learned  her  fate  as  decided  by  her  relatives, 


90 


KIN-DA-SIION'S    WIFE: 


she  has  thought  and  planned  and  developed  as  she  never 
did  before.  Scheme  after  scheme  has  been  dreamed  out, 
thought  over,  and  rejected  as  impracticable. 

To-night  she  finds  herself  almost  back  at  the  beginning, 
with  no  further  plan  than  just  that  of  getting  away  from 
this  house,  from  this  village,  of  hiding  from  the  hateful 
creature  who  is  to  claim  her  as  his  wife,  and  from  the 
people — his  own  and  hers — who  would  force  her  to  yield 
to  him  or  to  death! 

Of  the  two  she  prefers  death,  but  she  wants  to  live;  and 
the  hope  will  fly  along  before  all  plans — the  hope  of 
some  day  being  happy  with  Kin-da-shon,  though  how  such 
a  thing  can  ever  be  passes  the  power  of  her  imagination. 
To  get  away,  to  securely  hide — that  is  all  that  she  can  see 
now;  and  whether  or  not  she  can  do  so  much  as  this  must 
soon  be  put  to  the  test. 

To-night  Kin-da-shon  and  Kasko,  coming  in  early  from 
a  walk  in  the  meadows,  have,  all  unconsciously,  seated 
themselves  close  against  the  rude  partition  of  Kotch-kul- 
ah's  closet,  somewhat  apart  from  other  occupants  of  the 
house,  that  their  low-toned  conversation  may  be  uninter- 
rupted as  long  as  possible. 

Kin-da-shon's  voice,  musical  and  low,  is  at  once  recog- 
nized by  Kotch-kul-ah.  She  has  seen  him  several  times 
since  his  arrival,  herself  unseen,  but  not  before  has  he 
spoken  within  her  hearing,  and  his  tones  thrill  her  in  a 
way  which  she  could  not  describe  or  explain  better  than 
in  the  words  she  whispers  to  her  own  heart:  "  His  spirit 
shakes  me!  " 

His  words  have  been  lost  in  this  joyous  tumult,  but  an- 
other voice  now  speaks: 

"I  can't  help  it,  brother-friend.  There  has  come  over 
my  heart  the  shadow  of  the  Raven.  I  wish  you  and  my 
father  would  not  go  to  the  south  country." 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


9« 


"  If  it  be  the  Raven,  how  will  our  staying  help  it,  Kasko, 
little  brother?" 

"I  know  not — only  this  I  know,  that  I  want  us  to  be 
together  when  trouble  comes.  But  I  want  to  tell  you  now 
— we  may  not  be  so  well  together  again — a  thing  that  has 
made  me  many  thoughts,  but  until  now  no  words. 

"  You  have  heard  that  my  mother  in  a  dream  received 
the  spirit  of  a  great  medicine-man  who  had  long  before 
passed  out  of  his  body  and  never  found  one  wise  or  good 
or  beautiful  or  powerful  enough  to  give  the  spirit  to  again, 
until  my  mother.  She  was  good  and  beautiful,  but  had 
no  power.  The  awful  spirit  possessed  her,  and  when  she 
gave  me  birth  her  own  spirit  was  not  found. 

**  I  grew,  they  say,  as  one  with  two  mothers.  My  hair 
was,  at  the  first,  as  long  as  a  baby's  finger  and  curly  as  a 
medicine-man's.  It  would  never  have  been  cut  but  for 
my  father's  daring.  He  would  not  have  me  an  Icht,  and 
the  spirits  are  no  doubt  angry  with  him.  Do  you  know, 
Kin-da-shon — let  me  whisper,  and  don't  speak  it  again — 
the  day  we  came  here  my  father  seemed  weak,  and  before 
I  got  the  canoe  to  bring  him  across  the  sands  he  lay  down 
on  the  grass  to  rest,  and  his  cough  hurt  him. 

"  The  next  day  I  went  back  to  hunt  the  charm-stone  he 
had  lost  from  his  pouch.  I  found  it  just  where  he  had 
been  lying  when  he  coughed  so  hard  and  turned  over — and 
something  else,  O  brother! — I  found  blood! — red  blood! — 
dried  on  the  grass! 

"  I  must  save  him,  Kin-da-shon.  Every  one  has  said 
that  the  Icht  whose  spirit  was  given  to  me  was  much 
greater  than  any  medicine-man  living  now.  If  these  can 
save^  then  much  more  may  / — if  I  give  myself  to  the  spirit 
power. 

"Always  I  have  felt  a  large  life  in  me — a  strength  that 
no  other  boy  seemed  to  feel.     My  father  told  me  I  felt  so 


92 


KIN-DA  ■  SI  I  ON' S    WIFE: 


because  I  only  measured  with  Tashekah — she  being  sweet 
and  gentle.  But  for  some  moons  now  I  have  felt  other 
things,  and  have  tried  to  think  them  out,  without  father 
or  Tashekah  or  anybody. 

"Everything  .1  all  wrong;  you  see  that  everywhere.  I 
gee  it,  too.  I  don't  understand,  and  I  can't  at  all  see 
what  I  can  do  to  make  anything  right;  but,  you  'ee,  if 
any  change  can  ever  be  made,  it  is  only  a  medicine-priest 
of  terrible  power  with  the  demons  who  can  do  it.  If  that 
is  the  only  hope  of  our  people,  and  if  such  a  power  is 
mine,  how  can  I  hide  it?  It  will  destroy  me  and  all  I 
love." 

"  Wi'li you,  Kasko — vf'iU you  be  a  medicine-man?"  Kin- 
da-shon  asks  anxiously. 

"  I  must — I  ffiust  be  one.  My  father  needs  me ;  Ta- 
shekah will  need  me;  even  you  may  need  me,  and  every- 
where my  people  are  needing  me.  I  feel  many  things 
that  I  cannot  speak,  my  older  brother  " — burying  his  face 
to  choke  a  sob,  then  going  bravely  on:  "It  is  not  the 
medicine-men  that  we  /lave  who  can  make  great  changes 
for  this  people.  They  love  their  houses;  they  have  wives 
and  children.  They  love  many  blankets;  they  rob  the 
poor  and  sick.  You  and  I  have  both  seen  them  left  to 
die  in  the  cold  while  the  Icht  has  stuffed  his  treasure- 
house  with  their  blankets." 

"That  I'm  sure  you  could  never  do,  Kasko,  my  tender 
heart!  You  are  swift  and  brave  and  strong  as  the  eagle, 
and  tender  as  a  mother  seal !  " 

"  It  must  be  because  my  Icht  is  greater  than  theirs. 
I'm  glad  I  began  to  speak  to  you,  Kin-da-shon;  it  is  help- 
ing me  to  see  through  the  fog.  I  begin  to  understand 
better  what  I  must  do — and  I  must  not  wait  for  a  fuller 
moon.  I  will  go  to  the  mountains.  The  lynx,  the  wolf, 
shall  be  my  only  friends  till  I  find  the  power  to  overturn 


AN    ALASKAN    STORY. 


93 


evil.  My  father  must  not  know  this,  Kin-da*shon.  I  ad- 
jure you,  tell  him  no  word  that  you  have  heard  of  me. 
He  had  hidden  from  us  all  that  he  had  been  struck  by  a 
spirit  of  darkness.  Yet  he  is  bent  with  fear  and  pain — 
you  see  that!  Take  care  of  him,  Kin-da-shon;  help  him 
when  he  cannot  know  it.  The  journey  will  be  long,  but 
yon  will  bring  him  again  to  his  own  house;  and  I — 1 
will  leave  no  hard  thing  undone  to  gain  power  to  save 
him." 

"When  will  you  leave  the  ^  Mage,  Kasko?" 

"  1  must  see  my  sister  safe  in  our  father's  house  first. 
We  can  start  back  at  one-,  when  you  have  gone.  Then 
my  Icht  shall  guide  me.  I  can  tell  you  nothing  more, 
brother  mine! " 

For  the  past  few  moments  the  conversation  has  been 
carried  on  in  such  covered  whispers  as  might  not  attract  the 
attention  of  the  people  now  closely  seated  all  about  the 
boys.  Kotch-kul-ah  is  their  only  listener;  to  her  hear- 
ing, now  doubly  acute,  their  words  are  clearly  distinct. 

Their  attention  now  is  caught  by  individuals  in  the 
crowd.  Yealh-neddy  has  taken  a  place,  with  his  usual 
leer. 

"When  you  are  an  Icht,  Kasko,  I  only  hope  that  power 
may  be  found  to  take  the  demon  which  that  evil  eye 
shows."     Kin-da-shon  speaks  bitterly. 

"Yealh-neddy?  Yes,  I  hate  him  as  much  as  you  can. 
I  pity  the  girl  that  has  her  life  bound  in  his  bundle.  I 
think  /  would  kill  myself!  " 

"She  was  so  pretty,  too! — not  sweet,  like  Tashekah. 
but  bright  as  the  stars  on  a  frosty  night;  no  mud  or  fog 
about  her;  and  she  was  a  friend  worth  having." 

"Could  she  be  willing,  do  you  think,  to  be  given  to 
such  a  fellow?" 

"No;  I  could  be  sure  of  that.     There  was  no  vileness 


94 


KIN-DA.SHON'  S    WIFE: 


in  her  heart  to  meet  his.  She  will  hate  him!  And  I  will 
not  slip,  if,  with  her  spirit,  she " 

Her  senses  are  strained  to  the  uttermost  to  catch  it,  but 
not  another  word  reaches  her.  Has  he  not  finished  the 
sentence  ?  What  does  he  think  she  may  do  ?  Does  he 
wish  her  to  break  these  bonds,  and  does  his  wish  go  farther 
than  to  have  her  free  ? 

At  least  he  has  not  forgotten  her,  and  he  has  spoken 
good  and  honest  words  of  the  past — the  happy  past — the 
ages  ago  when  they  were  children. 

"Pretty — bright  as  the  stars!"  he  said.  How  she 
thrills  again  as  she  recalls  his  words.  But — "not  sweet 
like  Tashekah,"  he  said  that  too.  What  does  that  mean? 
And  a  jealous  pang  shoots  through  the  sweetness  that  has 
filled  her  heart  for  a  moment — a  pang  that  must  be  argued 
down. 

He  hates  Yealh-neddy;  and  "  Kotch-kul-ah  is  a  friend 
worth  having."  "  No  mud  or  fog  about  her;  nor  vileness; 
bright  as  the  stars  on  a  frosty  night."  Ah,  yes;  he  said  all 
that,  and  he  did  not  lie.  That  was  better  than  being 
"sweet  like  Tashekah."  Kin-da-shon  meant  \.\\dX  it  was 
better;  he  could  not  speak  all  his  heart  to  Kasko! 

Eagerly,  greedily,  the  girl  gives  herself  to  the  influence 
of  this  stimulant.  With  Kin-da-shon's  love  she  can  die 
or  live  insensible  to  pain.  Her  perplexity  and  wearing 
anxiety  are  gone  now,  as  though  forever;  though  what 
she  can  do  is  still  an  unanswered  question. 

The  night  has  worn  on,  the  crying  is  hushed ;  except, 
indeed,  the  widow's — that  goes  on  now,  until  the  crema- 
tion has  taken  place.  The  little  ones  and  most  of  the 
older  people  have  covered  their  faces,  and,  without  leav- 
ing their  seats,  sleep  heavily. 

Suddenly  a  peculiar,  prolonged  cry  is  sounded  by  the 
widow,    greeting    the    early    morning,    and    calling   the 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


95 


mourners  to  the  performance  of  the  last  sad  duty  to  the 
dead. 

In  a  united  crying  the  people  respond,  and  the  widow's 
tribal  friends  proceed  to  the  place  of  burning  to  build  the 
fire,  while  her  brothers  and  near  friends  make  the  body 
ready  for  removal  in  l  blanket  stretcher. 

To  the  corners  of  this  litter  ropes  are  attached,  by 
means  of  which  it  is  drawn  up  through  the  large  smoke- 
escape,  received  on  the  roof,  and  lowered  from  thence  to 
the  waiting  carriers  on  the  path,  who  lead  the  procession 
of  friends  to  the  place  prepared  at  the  entrance  of  the 
meadows. 

Kotch-kul-ah  walks  near  her  mother  and  joins  in  the 
crying.  The  pyre  is  reached,  and  the  body  is  soon  placed 
in  position,  well  wrapped  in  blankets.  Boxes  of  food 
are  also  placed  on  the  wood,  where  they  will  be  consumed 
for  the  use  of  the  spirit. 

As  the  fire  is  lighted  the  crying  becomes  more  loud  and 
the  muscular  demonstrations  of  the  mourners  more  vio- 
lent, increasing  as  the  sickening  odors  indicate  that  the 
flames  are  now  devouring  the  body. 

The  widow  Kah-da-guah  has  two  daughters  younger 
than  Kotch-kul-ah,  who  were  given  several  years  ago  to 
their  mother's  sisters  for  succeeding  wives  to  their  respec- 
tive husbands.  These  little  girls  are  among  the  mourn- 
ers, and  are  now  brought  near  the  burning  pile  that  they 
may  comb  their  hair  and  cast  the  vermin  into  the  fire,  so 
that  henceforth  they  may  be  free  from  such  invaders. 
Failing  to  take  such  precaution,  the  plague  will  follow 
them  all  their  lives  long. 

At  last  the  task  is  completed.  Smouldering  embers  and 
whitened  bones  lie  in  a  low,  pathetic  heap.  A  little  box 
made  for  the  purpose  is  brought  forward  to  receive  the 
only  visible  remains  of  him  who  had  been  chief  of  the 


96 


KIN-DA-SffON'S    WIFE: 


village  Yhin-da-stachy.  These  are  picked  out  by  the 
women  with  exceeding  care  and  are  placed  in  the  box, 
which  is  borne  now  to  one  of  the  "  dead-houses  "  back  of 
the  village,  and  left  among  the  many  similar  boxes  al- 
ready there. 

This  housing  is  but  a  temporary  one,  however.  By  an- 
other summer  the  sisters  and  brothers  of  the  departed  chief 
will  have  completed  a  new  house  as  a  memorial  in  their 
ancestral  village  Kutwulhtoo;  then  will  be  brought  this 
box,  with  many  honors — with  singing,  dancing,  and  feast- 
ing— during  which  the  widow's  tribe  shall  be  the  guests 
and  receive  pot-latch  gifts. 

The  ashes  of  the  dead  disposed  of,  the  mourning  is  at 
an  end,  and  all  who  have  participated  in  the  ceremonies 
must  now  pass  through  a  general  cleansing  process,  the  wo- 
men and  girls  going  for  the  purpose  to  the  widow's  house, 
the  men  and  boys  to  another.  Into  each  of  these  houses 
is  carried  a  canoe,  which  is  now  half  filled  with  water. 
When  the  fires  have  been  started,  many  stones  as  large  as 
a  man's  fist  are  brought  in  and  placed  in  the  fire  to  heat; 
when  they  are  sufficiently  hot  and  have  been  dropped 
sizzling  into  the  canoe,  the  public  bath  is  ready  for  use; 
and  every  man,  woman,  and  child,  beginning  with  their 
head,  removes  all  trace  of  paint  and  grief  by  a  thorough 
scrubbing  of  the  entire  body.  The  old  clothing  is  also 
removed  from  sight,  and  each  person  is  enrobed  in  some- 
thing good  and  new — their  best. 

The  house  is  set  in  order  and  preparations  are  made  by 
the  tribe  of  the  dead  chief  for  the  feast  by  which  the 
long  fast  is  to  be  broken.  Many  baskets  of  fish  are  set 
boiling,  large  boxes  of  berries  in  oil  are  brought  out  from 
the  storehouses.  With  great  horn  spoons,  holding  a 
quart  or  more,  these  berries  are  dipped  out  into  the  various 


f- 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


97 


totem  dishes  of  the  different  families,  who  for  this  occa- 
sion have  brought  their  own. 

Each  family  has  a  dish,  about  which  they  gather  with 
their  large  individual  spoons.  The  only  exception  to  this 
order  is  Widow  Kah-da-guah  herself,  who  sits  apart  from 
the  others  and  has  her  right  hand  so  bandaged,  in  token 
of  her  broken  life,  as  to  render  it  useless,  and  it  must  be 
so  carried  for  two  weeks.  During  this  first  two  weeks, 
also,  she  must  not  chew  on  the  right  side  of  her  mouth. 
Then  her  hand  is  released,  and  for  two  weeks  she  shall 
not  chew  on  the  left  side  of  her  mouth.  She  will  then  be 
free  to  take  her  new  husband.  Among  other  signs  of  her 
bruised  and  bereaved  heart,  soon  after  the  spirit  of  her 
husband  Kood-wot  had  gone  her  breast  was  scratched 
with  a  stone,  and  the  stone  then  bound  over  it. 

The  bitter  berries  and  oil  are  served  to  al.  as  a  first 
course,  after  their  fast,  and  are  followed  by  the  boiled  fish 
to  all  but  the  widow.  She  is  given  dried  ^•^  and  oil  as  a 
second  course — as  eating  boiled  fish  will  cause  a  widow's 
head  to  loosen  and  shake  from  side  to  side. 

The  day  has  grown  cloudy  and  has  closed  in  shadow 
before  all  the  people  have  been  fed.  There  is  much  bustle 
and  Gtir  made  by  Yealh-neddy  and  his  friends  in  bringing 
oat  the  goods  he  means  to  give  away  to-night  as  his  share 
in  the  ceremonies. 

There  are  bales  of  Hudson  Bay  blankets  and  several 
bolts  of  white  cotton  and  prints  stacked  in  the  two  back 
corners  of  the  room. 

The  dishes  and  remaining  supplies  of  food  are  thrust 
out  of  the  way  on  to  wide,  rude  shelves  over  the  doorway 
and,  at  each  side  of  it,  over  the  low  anterooms,  where  in 
winter  stores  of  fuel  are  kept  a  day  or  two  in  advance  of 
demand,  but  are  now  filled  with  paddles  and  other  belong- 
ings of  the  many  guests  from  other  villages. 
7 


98 


KIN-DA-SIION'S    WIFE: 


With  the  clearing  away  of  the  food  a  large  drum  or 
tambourine,  owned  by  the  medicine-man,  Ka-kee,  is 
brought  in  and  suspended  by  a  rope  thrown  over  one  of 
the  high  beams.  A  man  of  Yealh-neddy's  tribe  seats 
himself  a  little  back  of  the  fireplace,  from  which  the  fire 
has  been  carried  out  and  fresh  gravel  strewn  where  it  had 
burned,  in  order  that  the  space  may  be  utilized  as  stand- 
ing-room for  the  distributors  of  gifts.  The  drummer's 
place  is  midway  between  the  stacks  of  goods,  and  draw- 
ing the  drum  toward  himself  with  one  hand,  he  beats  his 
tattoo  with  a  single  stick. 

In  a  short  time  every  available  inch  of  floor  space  is  oc- 
cupied by  the  curious  crowd — the  women  and  girls  on  one 
side  of  the  house,  while  the  men  and  older  boys  fill  the 
other. 

The  house  Sf  ems  packed,  yet  others  coming  later  some- 
how find  an  entrance,  and  children  are  passed  over  the 
heads  of  the  seated  multitude  to  find  places  where  they 
may  serve  as  wedges.  Even  the  partition  which  had  shut 
off  Kotch-kul-ah's  closet  has  been  taken  down  to  increase 
the  room.  Many  of  the  boys  have  found  a  sitting  on  the 
great  timbers  which  cross  the  house,  and  on  the  tops  of 
the  anterooms,  pushing  back,  but  not  out  of  reach,  the 
boxes  of  food  ?o  hastily  stored  there,  and  for  which  they 
frequently  during  the  night  show  a  true  boy's  affinity. 

There  is  no  dancing  during  this  feast,  so  the  work  of 
distributing  the  gifts  is  with  the  simple  accompaniment  of 
the  drum. 

Six  men  take  their  places,  three  on  each  side  of  the 
drummer,  but  nearer  the  middle  of  the  room,  ready  to 
receive  and  tear  the  goods. 

In  front  of  them  stands  Ka-kee  himself,  with  a  long, 
slender  rod,  to  one  end  of  which  is  fastened  a  hook  most 
beautifully  fashioned  as  a  crane's  head.     It  is  of  horn, 


AN  ALASK4N   STORY. 


99 


exquisitely  polished,  and  with  eyes  of  green  shell  inlaid, 
the  hook  being  formed  by  the  curve  of  the  delicate  neck 
and  the  long,  slender,  partly  opened  bill.  By  this  the 
gifts  are  caught  and  conveyed  to  the  eagerly  expectant 
people. 

Women  seated  by  the  stacks  of  goods  now  begin  to  take 
them  out  piece  by  piece.  First  a  bale  of  blankets  is 
opened  in  each  corner,  and  from  each  simultaneously  is 
passed  one  blanket  at  a  time  to  the  men  in  waiting — two 
of  vv'hom  take  it  by  opposite  corners,  while  the  third  stands 
with  a  sharp  knife  and  cleaves  the  selvage  enough  to  tear; 
then  the  two  pulling  divide  the  blanket  into  a  number  of 
long  strips.  These  are  placed  in  a  heap  at  Ka-kee's  feet 
and  are  by  him  passed  on  the  hook  to  members  of  the  op- 
posite tribe. 

During  the  tearing  of  the  blankets  the  women  helpers 
have  been  busy  with  the  prints  and  muslins,  rolls  of  which 
have  been  undone  and  lie  in  loose  heaps. 

When  the  first  bale  of  blankets  has  been  disposed  of, 
the  cotton,  held  and  hanging  straight  by  one  edge,  is 
passed  hand  over  hand  through  the  crowd  from  each  corner 
to  the  dividers. 

The  three  men  on  each  side  stand  now  in  rows,  and  the 
goods  are  passed  through  their  hands,  without  cutting, 
until  they  lie  again  in  great  heaps  where  all  can  see 
their  magnificent  proportions;  they  are  then  rehanded,  in 
lengths  of  four  or  five  feet,  by  the  two  men,  and  cut  by 
the  third;  then  distributed  by  Ka-kee  as  the  blankets 
have  been. 

After  the  muslin  and  calico  more  of  the  blankets;  and 
after  the  blankets  more  of  the  cotton  goods,  until  all  are 
disposed  of. 

It  would  be  hard  to  say  whether  Yealh-neddy  or  his 
vain  widow-bride   is  the  more  gratified  by  this  display; 


lOO 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE'. 


but  it  is  in  widely  different  ways  that  their  gratification 
comes. 

Kotch-lcul-ah  had  been  obliged  to  take  a  part  in  the  per- 
formance, though  it  was  no  more  than  to  pass  through  her 
hands  a  portion  of  her  master's  wealth.  She  had  known 
that  this  would  be  required  of  her  as  the  ratification  of  the 
claim  which  had  been  given  him.  She  knew  that  her  es- 
cape could  not  be  safely  made  before  this  feast  was  over 
and  the  people  were  asleep;  then  many  hours  might  pass 
before  her  absence  would  be  discovered. 

As  she  fulfilled  her  part  in  the  feast  she  was  an  object 
of  interest  to  Kasko  and  Kin-da-shon,  who  as  usual  were 
seated  together.  Her  pallid  beauty  and  full,  dark  eyes, 
more  than  usually  brilliant  to-night,  could  not  but  attract 
them — and  many  others  also.  Yealh-neddy  was  more  than 
ever  arrogant,  and  more  than  once  the  light  from  his  evil 
eyes  seemed  to  smite  the  girl. 

Among  the  women  who  were  seated  against  the  wall 
near  Kotch-kul-ah  was  Kin-d?.-shon's  mother,  still  nursing 
her  resentment  and  injured  feeling  against  those  whom 
she  regarded  as  responsible  for  Kin-da-shon's  misfortune 
and  her  own  disappointment  in  respect  to  this  girl.  To- 
night, as  she  saw  her  stand  v/ith  dignity,  as  unconscious 
as  it  was  genuine  and  as  modest  as  it  was  fearless,  the 
mother's  heart  burned  with  envy — coveting  such  a  wife 
for  her  only  son.  Each  moment  the  bitterness  increased, 
until,  losing  sight  of  the  possible  consequences,  she  de- 
termined to  at  least  prevent  Kotch-kul-ah  from  ever  liv- 
ing with  Yealh-neddy;  and  if  such  a  thing  could  be  com- 
passed, by  means  fair  or  foul,  to  secure  her  even  yet  to 
Kin-da-shon. 

As  Kotch-kul-ah  took  her  seat,  the  woman  slyly  clutched 
her  skirt,  and,  without  attracting  the  attention  of  others, 
succeeded  in  getting  the  girl  seated  close  by  her  side — 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


lOI 


the  wall  at  their  backs,  the  goods  at  one  side,  so  that  a 
few  words  might  be  occasionally  exchanged  without  being 
overheard  or  remarked  upon  by  those  near. 

The  words  of  Kin-da-shon's  mother,  though  guarded  in 
tone,  were  impetuous  and  burning,  carrying  to  Kotch-kul- 
ah's  fluttering  heart  all  the  assurance  it  needed  from  an 
outward  souece  that  she  was  as  longed  for  as  she  longed 
to  go. 

Had  her  courage  for  an  instant  faltered,  it  now  received 
the  stimulus  it  required  More  than  that,  the  future, 
the"flr//^/-  getting  away,  what  then?" — appeared  not  as 
the  threatening,  ominous  cloud  which  from  the  first  had 
shrouded  her  proposed  flight,  but  it  was  even  made  entic- 
ing. Succor  from  Kin-da-shon*s  own  mother — hiding  for 
a  little  time — then  love — Kin-da-shon's  home — shelter — 
peace — that  is  what  it  promised  her.  Yes,  if  there  were 
no  terror  to  flee  from,  that  were  worth  daring  death  for. 
Her  heart  leaps  at  the  thought. 

Yet — and  a  part  of  the  cloud  rises  again  close  before 
her — even  though  a  happy  future  seems  to  loom  clear  be- 
yond it,  the  hiding  that  must  be  first  in  the  woods  and  the 
rocks — \\Q'^  can  she  go  alone?  Owls,  goblins,  goosh-ta- 
kahs,  evil  spirits  of  every  sort  swarming  about  her  and  in- 
festing every  wild  and  hidden  place.  If  only  some  one 
could  go  with  her  she  should  not  be  soovercome  with  fear. 
She  grows  cold  even  while  her  pulse  is  quick  with  joy. 
She  must  go,  but  what  may  she  not  see  ?  She  could  even 
go  with  a  witch,  she  thinks;  it  would  be  less  horrible  than 
to  be  alone.  "A  witch?"  Yes;  she  has  befriended  Sha- 
hehe  a  little — would  it  be  any  worse  to  cut  her  thongs 
now  and  take  her  along? 

But  Sha-hehe  is  past  going;  even  should  she  survive  her 
present  torture  she  will  require  an  old  woman's  herbs  and 
nursing  before  she  can  walk  to  the  beach. 


'K 


102 


ICLV-DA-SI/ON'S    WIFE: 


Kotch-kul-ah's  thoughts  have  so  engrossed  her  that  she 
has  not  noted  the  progress  of  the  feast.  The  heap  of 
goods  at  her  side  has  disappeared;  the  dividers  are  still 
busy,  but  the  last  bale  of  blankets  lies  before  them  when 
she  is  recalled  to  present  conditions,  and  notices  too  that 
the  wind  has  arisen.  Its  mournful  soughing  is  now  and 
then  broken  by  angry  gusts  which  carry  the  gravel  and 
dash  it  violently  against  the  house,  though  not  a  tremor 
is  felt  in  the  heavy,  mortised  walls. 

It  is  a  wild  night  for  a  young  and  tender  girl  to  go  out 
alone. 

Crash!  Horror!  what  is  that?  Agust  of  wind  more  vio- 
lent than  its  predecessors  has  dislodged  the  heavy  boards 
that  have  served  as  a  smoke-guide  on  the  roof,  scattering 
them  in  different  directions.  One  is  dashed  through  the 
great  opening,  and  without  a  moment's  warning  has  struck 
the  helpless  women  and  children.  Many  hands  have  been 
•instinctively  thrust  out  in  sudden  alarm,  but  without 
power  to  save.  Several  of  the  women  are  severely  bruised, 
but  the  heaviest  part  of  the  blow  has  fallen  on  the  head  of 
a  sleeping  child,  who  for  one  brief  instant  opens  wide 
scared  eyes  with  a  sharp  cry  of — 

"Tashekah!  Tashekah!  "  which  ends  in  a  convulsion. 

"O'ah  yeat!  ah  yeat!  Ch-one,  my  son — my  baby!" 
comes  in  anguish  from  the  mother. 

It  is  Sa-allie  with  her  children,  and  Tashekah  is  by  i.er 
side,  having  been  led  in  by  the  unyielding  Ch-one  to  a 
place  by  his  mother.  When  the  baby  had  fallen  asleep 
he  had  been  slipped  into  Tashekah's  lap,  while  Ch-one 
slyly  took  the  place  in  his  mother's  arms.  The  mo*^her, 
Tashekah,  and  the  babe  have  escaped  unhurt,  while  Ch-one 
— is  he  killed?  From  the  convulsion  he  has  passed  into 
a  death-like  stupor. 

Ka-kee  has  stood  for  a  moment  like  one  bewildered — 


AN   ALASKAN   STORY. 


103 


Stunned.  The  crowd  try  to  get  to  their  feet,  one  crying 
one  thing,  another  something  else,  amid  shrieks  and 
groans  and  shouts  until  the  uproar  becomes  a  bedlam. 

In  the  effort  to  leave  the  house  many  are  trodden  on ; 
one  babe  is  dropped,  and  instantly,  ere  it  can  be  recov- 
ered, the  little  life  is  gone. 

The  door  is  blocked,  within  and  without,  by  those 
wanting  to  leave  and  those  who  are  more  anxious  to  see 
what  has  happened  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

Dazed  at  the  first  as  others  were,  Kin-da-shon  and 
Kasko  are  soon  able  to  take  in  the  situation  and  see  ll  at 
nothing  can  be  done  toward  getting  the  sufferers  out  un- 
til the  crowd  at  the  door  is  dispersed.  With  a  whispered 
word  and  then  a  leap,  each  boy  has  swung  himself  upon 
one  of  the  long  beams  of  the  house,  from  which,  monkey 
fashion,  they  assist  each  other  to  reach  the  smoke-escape 
and  so  get  upon  the  roof. 

Kasko,  as  he  creeps  over  the  fastening  of  the  rope  to 
which  the  drum  is  attached,  is  struck  with  an  idea  con- 
cerning its  use,  and  seeing  that  their  movements  are  en- 
tirely unnoticed  by  the  crowd  below,  he  severs  the  rope  at 
the  beam,  and  drawing  up  the  drum,  throws  the  coiled 
rope  to  Kin-da-shon  on  the  roof,  who  quickly  has  it  all 
beside  him,  and  Kasko  follows. 

It  requires  but  a  few  seconds  then  for  Kasko  to  reach  a 
point  a  little  back  from  the  house — among  the  dead-houses 
— and  begin  to  beat  a  doctor's  call  on  the  drum;  while 
Kin-da-shon  takes  a  position  in  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  to 
stimulate  the  counter-excitement. 

The  effect  is  magical ;  the  crowd  about  the  doorway 
turn  and  begin  to  move  toward  the  sound  as  if  charmed. 

At  the  same  time  a  quieting  influence  is  at  work  within 
the  house.  Kah-sha  has  arisen,  and  stands  beside  the 
dazed  Ka-kee.     "The  child  has  no  air  down  among  the 


104 


KIN-DA-SIION'S    WIFE.- 


feet  there.  You  must  save  him;  bring  him  under  the  roof 
hole,"  he  says. 

It  is  just  the  spur  that  was  necessary  to  bring  the  man 
to  his  senses,  of  which  he  had  become  bereft  on  this  first 
stroke  of  evil  to  his  family,  Ka-kee  loves  his  children, 
especially  this  baby  boy;  and  it  has  been  a  boast  which 
strengthened  his  power  among  the  people,  that  his  own 
family  had  so  long  escaped  plague,  accident,  and  death 
through  his  wonderful  charms  and  supernatural  influence 
over  the  spirits  of  evil.  To-night,  in  a  moment's  time, 
he  has  been  stripped  of  all  feigned  strength,  and  stands  as 
helpless  and  confounded  in  the  face  of  personal  trouble 
as  the  weakest  man  he  has  ever  robbed  under  the  pretence 
of  giving  him  aid. 

Kah-sha's  words  arouse  him,  and  instantly,  with  a 
piercing  shriek,  he  leaps  above  the  heads  of  the  people; 
at  which  the  excited  mass,  startled,  surges  back  and  a 
hush  falls  upon  all. 

In  a  moment  more  the  unconscious  child  is  in  his 
father's  arms  and  is  placed  in  the  freer  air. 

"  Clear  me  room,"  cries  the  man.  "  I'll  find  this  devil, 
be  he  in  earth  or  air!  "  And  drawing  off  his  upper  gar- 
ment over  his  head,  he  takes  from  a  curious,  bead-wrought 
bag,  worn  over  his  breast,  a  rattle — the  insignia  of  his 
power! 

With  even  more  frantic  and  horrible  gyrations  than 
those  he  had  used  over  the  dying  chief,  but  occupying 
much  less  time,  his  incantation  is  ended  and  the  swoon — 
collapse — has  succeeded.  Where  all  has  been  tempest 
and  uproar  the  silence  of  the  dead  now  reigns,  but  it  is  a 
silence  tense  with  expectancy. 

The  spirit  of  the  sorcerer  returns:.  Amid  the  shiverings 
of  his  body  the  voice  comes  in  those  far-away,  sepulchral 
tones  which  always  inspire  the  people  with  awe  and  terror. 


■ 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


lO: 


"I  have  found  the  demon — there!"  And  springing  to 
his  feet,  his  long,  bony  finger  is  thrust  out  toward  a  mid- 
dle-aged woman  near  the  door.  His  body  bends  rigidly 
toward  her;  his  eyes  seem  to  cauterize  her  every  nerve  of 
motion;  a  deathly  pallor  overspreads  her  face;  her  eyes 
are  distended  in  horror;  but  she  neither  moves  nor  speaks. 

"Take  her!"  he  cries.  "That  demon  will  not  burn — 
only  drowning  can  destroy  her  power." 

It  is  not  now  a  difficult  matter  to  make  way  through  the 
crowd.  Strong  men  have  seized  the  woman  and  drag  her 
out  of  the  doorway. 

The  tide  is  far  out.  A  heavy  stake  is  soon  driven  se- 
curely into  the  hard  beach,  a  little  more  than  half-way 
out,  where  the  returning  tide,  wave  by  wave,  will  rise  far 
above  the  head  of  the  victim.  The  unfortunate  witch 
has  been  found  harboring  the  evil  spirit  that  caused 
the  disaster.  And  here  she  is  lashed  to  her  stake  as  Sha- 
hehe  was  to  hers. 

Having  made  the  witch  thus  secure  to  her  fate,  the 
slow,  sure  coming  of  which  will  prove  her  torture,  the  ex- 
citement of  the  outsiders  abates  to  such  an  extent  that, 
weary  as  all  the  feasters  are,  they  gladly  seek  refuge  from 
the  storm  within  the  sheltering  homes  of  the  village. 

As  one  dead  still  lies  little  Ch-ouc,  save  that  now  and 
then  a  short  sigh  escapes  his  white  lips.  Grimly  his 
father  sits  watching  the  child,  while  the  mother,  sobbing, 
crouches  over  the  precious  body.  Now  she  puts  back  his 
damp  hair  and  covers  his  brow  with  kisses,  calling  over 
all  the  pet  names  she  ever  gave  him. 

Tashekah  in  tender  sympathy  drops  silent  tears  over 
the  sleeping  babe  in  her  lap,  and  dozes  from  utter  exhaus- 
tion. 

Wise  and  kindly  Kah-sha  remains,  and  a  few  other 
friends;  while  the  multitude  have  gone  to  their  homes  or 


io6 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


rolled  themselves  up  in  their  blankets  here.  Already 
the  air  is  resonant  with  the  signs  of  heavy  sleep. 

The  little  horn  dishes  of  tallow  with  their  twisted  wicks 
have  long  ago  burned  out,  but  Kah-sha  has  found  material 
to  replenish  one,  and  it  burns  near  the  sorrowing  group. 

"I  would  make  his  blood  run,  Ka-kee,"  Kah-sha  sayt-, 
while  fingering  gently  but  intelligently  the  child's  head. 
"That  was  a  heavy  blow.  The  head  bone  pushes  in. 
The  blood  is  thick  and  will  spoil  in  there — better  set  it 
moving." 

^^ See^  Kah-sha,"  Ka-kee  answers  in  an  unusual  voice, 
extending  his  weak  and  trembling  hand.  '^  Is  that  ready 
to  do  such  work?  If  the  wind  falls  before  morning  he 
will  live." 

*'/  can  do  it,"  says  Kah-sha,  not  noticing  the  last  re- 
mark. "  See  my  hand!  "  And  as  he  speaks  he  holds  out 
his  firm  and  well-shaped  hand,  with  a  small,  shai  knife 
in  its  grasp. 

"Do  it,  then,  if  you  like,"  groans  the  father;  and  with 
a  skilful  turn  of  the  instrument  the  deed  is  done. 

A  little  gentle  friction  over  the  surface,  a  chafing  of 
the  hands  and  feet,  and,  drop  by  drop,  the  slow  blood  be- 
gins to  flow  from  the  newly  opened  wound.  A  little 
more,  and  a  small  stream  of  the  bright  fluid  is  discharged. 
Circulation  is  further  stimulated,  and  wet  cloths  are  bound 
about  the  child's  head. 

His  breathing  grows  more  natural,  and  the  color  be- 
gins to  return  to  the  lips.  Sleep  overpowers  the  weary 
watchers,  heavy  with  sorrow. 

The  tallow  lamp  burns  out. 

The  village  sleeps. 

The  tide  is  running  in;  slowly,  surely  it  creeps  up; 
inch  by  inch  the  witch  feels  it  measure  her  height — 
doubled    and   bent  back  and  tied  down — ah!    there  are 


Aisr  ALASKAN   STORY. 


107 


not  many  inches  to  measure;  but  it  seems  to  take  forever 
and  forever' 

The  certainty  and  slowness  are  terrible.  She  begins  to 
wish  that  a  huge  wave  would  sweep  in  and  end  it  all;  but 
no;  the  wind  has  fallen,  a  dead  calm  has  settled  on  the 
black  sea  and  on  the  earth.  Only  the  sky  above,  which 
her  poor  face  is  forced  so  pitifully  to  meet,  shows  any 
life. 

A  streak  of  color  begins  to  appear  over  the  mountain — 
morning  is  near. 

Morning?  "  No!  "  she  cries,  with  another  spasm  of  ter- 
ror and  pain;  "no  morning  evermore  to  me.  Night  and 
demons  are  where  I  am  going!  " 

And  the  tide  creeps  up. 

The  village  sleeps. 

But  Kotch-kul-ah  has  not  slept.  Covering  her  head 
with  her  blanket,  she  had  settled  herself  beside  her  mother 
soon  after  the  witch's  removal  from  the  house.  Appear- 
ing to  sleep,  she  yet  kept  watch  of  all  that  afterward 
transpired. 

She  knew  by  the  sounds  outside  just  where  the  witch 
was  placed.  She  saw  the  work  of  Kah-sha  for  the  child, 
and  was  gratified  at  its  result.  Eagerly  she  watched  to 
see  where  he  put  the  knife  when  its  work  was  done;  and 
then,  though  with  an  almost  uncontrollable  restlessness, 
she  kept  her  position  until  the  last  of  the  group  had  given 
satisfactory  evidence  of  being  soundly  asleep. 

Noiselessly  and  hastily  she  then  made  her  preparations. 
Some  food  in  a  basket,  which  would  also  do  for  cooking 
in;  several  blankets  from  the  undistributed  bale;  the  pre- 
cious knife  and  a  pair  of  canoe  paddles — these  were  quickly 
put  together  and  carried  a  little  distance  down  the  beach. 

The  tide  is  higher  than  she  had  thought.  What  if  she 
should  be  too  late? 


io8 


KIN.DA.SHON'S    WIFE: 


Dropping  everything  save  the  knife,  she  runs  at  full 
speed  toward  the  point  where  she  feels  sure  the  witch  has 
been  tied.  She  has  dipped  her  own  feet  in  the  strongly 
rising  waters  without  having  met  what  she  seeks. 

"Speak  to  me,"  softly  but  distinctly  cries  the  girl.  "I 
come  a  friend.     I  will  save  you!  " 

A  gurgling  moan,  almost  lost  in  the  low  murmur  of 
the  tide-waves,  is  her  only  answer. 

It  is  enough  for  Kotch-kul-ah's  quick  sense.  She  is  at 
the  side  of  the  drowning  woman,  who  is  already  covered 
to  the  throat.  A  moment  more,  and  it  would  have  been 
too  late  to  save  her. 

But  in  less  t'.ana  moment  Kotch-kul-ah  has  thrust  down 
through  the  waters,  and  the  thongs  are  cut,  the  bonds  are 
broken.  She  helps  the  woman  to  her  feet,  and  seeing  her 
ready  to  fall  again,  the  girl  clasps  her  arms  about  her  and 
whispers  words  of  inspiration  and  hope. 

"  I  am  the  daughter  of  Kood-wot.  Yealh-neddy  claims 
me  for  his  v«?ife.  I  am  ready  to  die  first.  I  have  saved 
you;  you  can  help  me.  Come,  let  us  go;  there  is  no 
time  to  lose.  They  will  sleep  long;  but  we  must  goat 
once.     Where  is  a  small  canoe?" 

With  passionate  energy  the  woman  throws  her  strong 
arms  about  the  slight,  girlish  form  and  bears  her  out  of 
the  water  in  which  they  have  been  standing,  saying  as  she 
does  so,  in  quick  gasps:  "My  dear — my  chief!  I  am 
your  slave!  My  life  is  yours;  no  husband  holds  me;  no 
children  are  mine.  Give  me  a  new  name;  I  am  yours. 
Usha  was  my  husband;  he  was  better  than  I.  He  went 
with  your  father,  our  master.  Give  me  Usha's  name! 
Let  me  go  with  you!  I  will  bring  the  canoe — stand  you 
still!  "  and  she  places  her  on  the  grass. 

"Let  me  get  the  paddles,  then,  Usha-shawet;  we  must 
be  in  haste,"  and  they  move  up  toward  the  village,  the 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


109 


woman  somewhat  stiffly,  but  with  a  tread  that  shows  en- 
during strength. 

Gathering  up  her  large  bundle,  Kotch-kul-ah  follows  to 
the  canoe,  which  has  been  discovered  in  the  long  grass; 
wishing  to  save  the  noise  of  dragging  the  boat  over  the 
gravel,  she  deposits  in  it  all  that  she  has  brought  with 
her,  and  takes  up  one  end  while  Usha  carries  the  other. 
Between  them  it  is  soon  launched. 

"  Get  in,  Usha,  and  take  the  paddle.  I  can  spring  in 
when  it  is  off  the  sands." 

The  wind  has  fallen,  the  tide  is  full,  and  the  village 
still  sleeps. 

They  are  off  now — two  human  lives  on  a  wide,  dark 
sea;  this  frail  chip  their  only  trust! 

Without  home,  without  God!  Ah!  but  not  even  a 
sparrow  falls  without  your  Father! 


no 


KJN.DA'SHON' S    WIFE: 


CHAPTER  X. 


PURPOSES   NOT   CROSSED. 


/"^LEAR  and  beautiful  dawns  the  morning,  but  the  vil- 
^^  'age  of  Yhin-da-stachy  sleeps  long.  The  tide  has 
well  run  out  again  before  any  one  of  those  who  were  to 
have  started  this  morning  for  Fort  Simpson  has  awakened; 
and  when  at  last  they  do  arouse,  it  is  with  a  heaviness 
of  sense  that  urges  no  haste.  There  is  a  rubbing  of 
eyes,  a  stretching  of  limbs,  a  turning  over  on  the  back, 
a  drawing  up  of  the  knees,  a  folding  of  the  arms  under 
the  head,  and  a  delicious  sense  of  rest  with  thne.  for  rest. 

The  patient  children  have  If  g  ago  finished  their  sleep, 
and  taking  what  they  wanted  of  the  ever-ready  dried  sal- 
mon, have  without  ado  betaken  themselves  to  the  field, 
wild  with  joy  over  the  ripening  of  the  first  berries. 

It  is  long  before  Kotch-kul-ah's  absence  is  even  noticed, 
and  when  it  does  become  known  there  is  only  a  lazy  con- 
clusion that  she  has  gone  roaming  with  the  children,  and 
no  further  thought  is  given  her. 

Ch-one  has  aroused  once  or  twice,  speaking  a  word  or 
two  in  an  intelligible  way,  taking  water  in  little,  slow 
sips,  then  dropping  off  again  into  what  seems  almost  too 
still  a  thing  for  sleep. 

His  mother  has  carried  him  home  in  her  own  arms, 
leaving  Tashekah  to  follow  with  the  baby. 

Once  more  Ch-one  has  aroused  with  his  new  friend's 
name  on  his  lips  and  an  appeal  in  his  dull  eyes.  Tashe- 
kah leaves  the  baby  asleep,  swinging  in  his  leather  ham- 


AN   ALASKAN   STORY. 


Ill 


mock;  and  as  she  bends  over  the  little  sufferer  and  takes 
his  hand  in  her  own  a  look  of  pleased  satisfaction  comes 
into  his  face,  and  the  little  hand  flutters  feebly;  then  the 
tired  eyes  half-close  again,  and  he  seems  to  know  nothing 
more — only,  when  Tashekah,  over-weary,  withdraws  her 
hand  to  move  about,  the  little  one  shows  signs  of  un- 
rest. 

"Leave  him  not,  Tastiekah!"  the  mother,  Sa-allie, 
pleads,  thinking  of  more  than  the  present;  "he  loves  you, 
and  you  give  him  rest." 

"I  love  the  child-man,  too,"  Tashekah  answers;  "but 
my  father  goes  south  to-day,  you  know,  and  my  brother 
will  take  me  to  my  grandmother  to-morrow." 

"ThenCh-one  must  die!  See  how  he  retts  when  you 
are  near  him,  and  the  quiet  heals  his  hurt.  If  you  go 
away,  his  spirit  and  his  blood  will  make  fire  enough  to 
take  his  life.     You  do  not  want  him  to  die?" 

"Oh,  no,  no!  He  loves  me.  He  must  not  die!  Surely 
the  great  medicine-spirit  will  help  him.  I  will  do  what  I 
can ;  but  my  father  may  want  me  to  go  and  my  brother 
may  not  like  to  have  me  stay." 

"We  will  see  to  that.  Your  father  is  wise  and  good; 
he  will  know  what  is  best,  and  he  will  not  deny  us  this 
help,"  is  Sa-allie's  confident  reply. 

Ka-kee  lies  curled  up  on  the  floor  near  his  little  son, 
still  anxious,  still  depressed.  He  has  heard  the  conversa- 
tion between  Tashekah  and  his  wife,  and  resolves  to  see 
Kah-sha  at  once,  though  his  own  heart  seems  to  have  died. 
He  cares  for  nothing  now;  but  Ch-one  needs  the  girl; 
she  must  stay  for  his  sake. 

So  when  he  finds  Kah-sha  and  asks  that  Tashekah  be 
allowed  to  remain  with  them,  it  is  with  a  sincerity  of 
pleading  for  the  sick  child  that  gains  from  Kah-sha  the 
consent  which  otherwise  could  not  have  been  obtained, 


112 


KIN-DA.SIWN'S    WIFE: 


and  which  now  makes  Tashekah   a  member  of  Ka-kee's 
household  for  an  indefinite  time. 

Not  a  moment  is  left  the  child  for  a  farewell  talk  with 
her  father,  between  watching  Ch-one  and  the  excitement 
arising  from  the  discovery  of  the  witch's  disappearance. 
For  when  the  tide  had  bared  the  place  of  her  stake  to  re- 
veal, not  the  stark  body  of  the  miserable  witch,  but  the 
idle,  water-curled  thongs  washed  about  the  stake,  almost 
a  panic  seized  the  villagers,  and  increased  manifold  the 
dark  forebodings  of  Ka-kee  regarding  his  son.  "  Ch-one 
would  die,"  he  thought;  "the  power  of  the  witch  had 
been  beyond  theii  reckoning;  she  had,  by  the  might  of  her 
demon,  broken  her  bonds  and  become  invisible;  no  doubt 
she  had  taken  wings  and  had  hovered  over  them,  brooding 
evil  while  they  slept!  " 

Not  one  of  all  the  village,  save  the  poor  witch  Sha- 
hehe,  connected  Kotch-kul-ah's  absence  with  that  of  the 
slave  woman.  The  children  were  off  for  all  day,  pnd  un- 
til they  returned  it  would  not  be  known  that  neither  Kotch- 
kul-ah  nor  the  canoe  was  with  them.  Excitement  thus 
centred  in  the  disappearance  of  the  witch. 

As  the  day  advances  and  the  wind  proves  favorable, 
the  men  become  anxious  to  get  on  their  way  by  the 
afternoon  tide;  but  before  it  can  be  thought  safe  to 
launch  a  boat  great  fires  must  be  made  on  the  beach,  and 
around  them  the  people  must  dance  with  incantations, 
and  cast  into  the  devouring  flames  offerings  of  various 
kinds. 

This  done,  all  is  hurry  and  rush  to  get  on  the  tide  at  its 
flood.  The  packs  of  furs  and  bundles  of  dried  salmon, 
blankets,  and  extra  clothing  of  native-dressed  leather  are 
stowed  in  the  bottom  of  the  large  canoe.  Twelve  fine 
specimens  of  the  Chilkat  tribe  take  their  places,  with 
paddles  in  hand,  ready  for  their  leader's  signal,  while  the 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY, 


"3 


boat  is  held  from  the  willing  waves  by  the  arms  of  stal> 
wart  friends,  who,  at  the  signal,  will  push  her  off. 

The  leader — and  in  this  case  he  is  also  helmsman — is 
Kah-sha,  who  stands  erect  in  his  place,  with  a  keen  eye 
surveying  the  preparations  and  directing  a  little  rear- 
rangement of  hastily  placed  baggage,  making  it  more 
compact  and  at  the  same  time  trimming  the  little  craft 
more  perfectly.  Two  square  sheets  and  the  poles  for  their 
support  are  also  placed  where  their  raising  will  be  the 
work  of  a  moment  when  they  pass  out  of  the  shelter  of  the 
bay  into  the  breeze  which  is  sweeping  down  the  channel. 

These  last  arrangements  are  all  but  completed,  when 
Kah-sha's  attention  is  suddenly  arrested  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Yealh-neddy,  knife  in  hand,  running  toward  the 
boat  from  the  direction  of  Sha-hehe's  place  of  torture. 
The  knife  is  replaced  in  its  sheath  at  his  belt  as  he  runs, 
and  snatching  a  bundle  from  his  mother,  who  has  stood 
silently  awaiting  him,  he  dashes  into  the  water,  tosses 
his  luggage  into  the  canoe,  and  with  a  light  spring  takes 
a  place  near  Kah-sha  himself.  The  whole  thing  has  oc- 
curred in  a  moment,  and  not  one  of  the  traders  but  is 
taken  by  surprise. 

"I  have  cut  the  thongs  from  Sha-hehe,"  he  calls  out 
loudly,  above  the  noise  of  the  water  and  the  expressions 
of  astonishment.  "  Cover  her  and  heal  her,  old  woman, 
against  the  time  I  come  again.     I  shall  want  her  then." 

Even  before  the  last  words  are  uttered  the  signal  has 
been  given  and  the  boat  is  off,  the  rhythmic  paddles  mov- 
ing as  by  perfect  mechanism  to  the  measure  of  their  boat- 
song. 

Very  soon  the  sails  are  hoisted  and  are  caught  by  the 

fresh  north  wind,   bearing   the  little  bark  rapidly  from 

the  sight  of  those  on  the  shore,  who  sing  them  farewell 

and  good  fortune. 
8 


114 


A'lN-.DA-SrrON'S    WIFE: 


Among  those  who  watch  the  departure  is  Tashekah, 
with  a  sick  sinking  of  heart  and  such  a  feeling  of  desolate- 
ness  and  heart-hunger  as  she  never  before  has  known. 

She  cannot  breathe  among  the  people;  her  heart  is 
dragging  her  down.  She  must  be  alone;  and  with  a 
slow,  heavy  step  which  gradually  quickens  into  a  run, 
she  never  stops  until  she  has  found  a  hiding-place  in  the 
meadow  grass  for  her  passion  of  sobs  and  tears. 

Kasko's  attention  has  been  so  engaged  with  the  events 
attending  the  sailing  of  the  party  that  he  has  not  noticed 
Tashekah.  When  the  little  sail  is  lost  beyond  the  hill- 
projecting  shore  he  turns  about,  to  see  women  carrying 
the  almost  lifeless  body  of  Sha-hehe  from  the  place  where 
she  had  sunk  helplessly  down  when  the  thongs  were  cut 
by  Yealh-neddy.  She  is  now  borne  to  one  of  the  little 
booth  huts  used  by  the  women  during  the  seasons  of  their 
banishment  from  the  household,  and  there,  on  a  bed  of 
spruce  boughs,  covered  with  an  old  blanket,  the  girl  witch 
is  laid,  with  just  sense  enough  remaining  to  make  her 
think  she  has  reached  the  beautiful  island,  without  a 
wonder  as  to  how  a  witch  could  get  there. 

This  unreasoning  rest  and  peace  is  increased  when  the 
old  herb-woman  brings  her  decoctions  and  bruised  leaves, 
bathing  and  poulticing  the  poor,  tortured  body,  and  using 
over  her  soft  passes  of  the  hand. 

There  are  days  of  horrid  slavery  to  follow.  There  are 
hours  of  acute  physical  pain  and  weeks  of  suffering  to  in- 
tervene; but  just  now  there  is  blessed  rest  without  a  pang 
of  body  or  mind  for  Sha-hehe;  though  the  sight  of  her 
thong-cut,  bruised,  and  stabbed  body,  with  the  hollow 
cheeks  and  discolored,  sunken  eyes,  the  protruding  tongue, 
black  and  swollen,  causes  a  shudder  to  run  through  those 
who  look  on. 

Shans-ga-gate  and  his  wife  have  no  desire  to  stay  after 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


"5 


they  have  seen  Kin-da-shon  safely  off,  and  their  prepara- 
tions are  made  to  start  immediately  on  the  turn  of  the  tide, 
after  the  sailing  of  the  trading  party,  though  the  after- 
noon shadows  are  lengthening  and  the  wind  is  in  their 
teeth. 

But  the  shallows  are  to  be  poled,  whichever  way  the 
wind  blows,  and  one  night  must  be  spent  in  camp  at  the 
best;  so,  with  but  little  ceremony,  they  turn  their  faces 
from  the  village  and  laboriously  paddle  out  of  sight,  un- 
sung and  unregretted,  though  Kasko  has  stood  by  to  kindly 
see  them  off,  doing  friendly  little  acts  toward  stowing 
their  belongings  into  the  boat,  with  a  thought  of  Kin-da- 
shon  doing  for  his  father. 

When  they  are  gone,  something  akin  to  Tashekah's 
feeling  of  loneliness  steals  over  the  boy — a  yearning  that 
leads  him  to  seek  the  only  one  dear  to  him  in  all  this 
village:  the  little  sister  who  has  all  these  years  been  to 
him  as  another  self,  and  whom  he  must  soon  part  with, 
perhaps  forever. 

"I  will  not  tell  her  to-night,"  he  resolves;  "no  doubt 
her  heart  is  crying  for  our  father.  I  will  comfort  her 
first.  To-morrow  morning  early  we  shall  start  for  our  own 
village,  and  after  that^  what  must  be  known  she  shall 
hear." 

Walking  as  he  thought,  Kasko  has  hardly  noticed 
whither  his  steps  have  been  taking  him — and  indeed  he 
knows  nothing  of  where  his  sister  may  be. 

*'  Kasko,"  calls  a  voice  from  the  door  of  a  house  he  has 
just  passed,  "where  is  your  sister?" 

"  I  would  ask  the  same  of  you,  friend  Ka-kee,"  the  boy 
replies.     "  Is  she  not  in  your  house  ? " 

"  She  has  not  been  seen  since  your  father  left.  Ch-one 
has  spoken  her  name  again,  and  I  have  come  out  to  seek  her. 
You  know,  I  suppose,  that  your  father  gave  her  to  me  ? " 


ii6 


KIN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


"What  is  that  you  say?"  Kasko  asks,  half-dazed. 
"What  is  that  you  say?" 

"You  know  I  have  meant  for  a  long  time  to  take  an- 
other wife.  I  had  the  heart  yesterday  to  ask  your  father 
for  Tashekah,  but  Ch-one's  hurt  killed  it  last  night,  so  that 
it  was  just  before  he  left  to-day  that  I  spoke  to  him.  He 
said  you  should  leave  her  here  with  us;  we  can  talk  about 
the  blankets  when  he  comes  back." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  my  father  gave  you  Tashekah 
for  a  wife?"  fiercely  questions  the  boy,  yet  with  a  forcing 
down  of  vehemence  which  his  genuine  filial  love  and  re- 
spect felt  instinctively  would  reflect  on  his  father. 

"And  what  is  to  say  against  that?  Could  you  find  her 
a  more  honorable  place?"  the  medicine-man  asks,  with 
some  pique. 

"  And  my  sister  is  ^.ot  to  go  with  me  to  our  own  place 
to-morrow  ? " 

"She  wants  to  stay — Ch-one  wants  her.  Tell  your 
grandmother  to  come  and  stay  a  half-moon,  and  let  us  talk 
it  over.  I  will  give  as  much  as  any  who  may  want  Ta- 
shekah. She  is  a  good  girl — but  where  can  she  be  ?  I 
came  to  find  her." 

"/will  find  her,"  says  Kasko  coldly, 

"Yes;  that  is  good;  and  bring  her  to  the  child — he 
needs  her." 

They  are  near  the  end  of  the  village,  and  as  Ka-kee 
turns  back  toward  his  own  house  Kasko  strides  blindly 
onward. 

It  is  as  though  he  had  been  given  a  blow.  "  His  little 
sister  a  wife — and  Ka-kee' s  wife  !  " 

As  he  walks  his  rage  spends  itself,  and  thoughts  more 
sober  follow.  "  Is  it  not  just  as  well  ?  He  was  about  to 
leave  her  alone  with  their  grandmother.  Would  she  not 
be  more  happy  here  with  the  children  who  love  her  and 


AS'   ALASKAN    STORY. 


117 


with  the  pleasant-faced  older  wife?  Would  it  not  be  bet- 
ter really  that  she  should  have  what  care  and  freedom  this 
home  might  give  her,  than  to  be  shut  away  alone  for  so 
long  a  time  as  he  knew  their  grandmother  would  insist  on 
keeping  her  ?  and  then  given,  it  might  be,  to — yes,  it  might 
be  to  Yealh-neddy  himself,"  and  Kasko  shudders  invol- 
untarily. 

Little  as  he  likes  the  medicine-man,  he  acknowledges 
that  Tashekah's  fate  might  be  vastly  worse.  As  he  reaches 
this  state  of  mind,  his  eyes  downward  cast  as  he  walks, 
he  sees  in  the  path  at  his  feet  a  large  scarlet-and-black 
handkerchief,  such  as  the  women  delight  in  as  headgear; 
and  picking  it  up,  he  recognizes  it  as  one  of  his  father's 
gifts  to  Tashekah. 

Tashekah  must  have  been  here,  tnen!  His  trained  eye 
soon  discovers  other  signs  of  a  presence  near,  and  in  a 
moment  he  finds  her  curled  up  in  the  grass,  which  bends 
caressingly  over  her,  looking  up  at  him,  smiling. 

Her  eyes  are  red  and  swollen,  and  the  poor  little  mouth 
quivers  piteously  as  Kasko,  sitting  down  beside  her,  asks: 

**  Whence  comes  rain  this  summer  day  ? " 

Again  the  floods  are  loosed;  and  burying  her  face  in  the 
cool,  sweet  grass,  she  sobs  out  her  heart-hunger  and  its 
forebodings: 

"Our  father  —  Kasko  —  do  you  think  he  will  come 
again?" 

"Yes — yes;  he  will  come — three  moons,  it  may  be,  will 
first  grow  and  die;  but  he  will  come,  and  many  pretty 
things  will  he  bring  you,  sister." 

"  I  care  not  for  the  things.  Yes,  I  will  care  for  them,  if 
he  brings  them;  but  I  want  him  not  to  go!  " 

"  Tashekah,  you  are  not  a  little  child  any  more;  you  are 
nearly  a  woman  now,  and  you  can  think  strong  thoughts. 
Tears  are  good,  but  not  to  live  on;  and  you  must  live.     I 


II 


8 


KIN.DA.SIION'S    WIFE: 


have  something  on  my  heart  to  tell  you,  Tashekah;  but 
maybe  you  are  too  weak  to  hear." 

"No!  no!  See!  I  am  strong  now!  Is  it  about  you, 
Kasko,  or  our  father?     Have  you  found  trouble?" 

Little  by  little,  guided  by  his  love,  he  leads  her  to  a 
knowledge  of  his  earnest  purpose  to  seek  power  for  the  re- 
covery of  their  father  and  the  blessing  of  their  people. 

Tashekah  is  enthused,  and  with  as  strong  a  heart  as 
his  own,  deliberately  sets  her  brother  apart  to  this  great 
thing.  Sets  him  apart! — yes,  even  though  it  leaves  her 
apart — as  alone  as  he — it  seems  to  the  child  as  she  crushes 
down  the  uprising  sob. 

"And  when  shall  you  go,  Kasko?  Soon — when  you 
have  taken  me  to  grannie?" 

"Little  sister,  yes;  and  you  will  be  more  sad  with 
grannie  alone.  It  were  better  you  should  wait  for  father 
here." 

"And  not  go  with  j'^ou  while  I  can?"  the  girl's  heart 
cries. 

"Our  father  spoke  of  your  staying  here;  he  thought 
best  you  should.  Ch-one  wants  you,  Tashekah,"  Kasko 
says,  unable  to  bring  himself  to  say  more. 

"Then  I  will  stay;  my  heart  shall  be  strong  to  do  it; 
and  I  have  been  too  long  away  from  poor  little  Ch-one 
now.  Let  us  go  back,  Kasko,"  springing  to  her  feet  as 
she  speaks,  struggling  to  bury  thought  in  action. 

They  have  but  reached  the  house  of  Ka-kee,  finding  the 
little  sufferer  unconscious  still,  but  moaning,  and  the 
cheeks  flushed  and  the  eyelids  quivering,  when  the  anx- 
ious mother  leaves  him  to  the  care  of  Tashekah  and 
goes  out  to  seek  her  eldest,  Kunz,  who  has  been  gone  all 
day,  and  since  the  disappearance  of  the  witch  the  mother 
heart  has  been  full  of  unrest  about  him. 

She  has  not  far  to  go  before  she  hears  the  laughter 


AN  ALASh'AN   STORY. 


U9 


and  merry  talk  of  the  entire  party  coming  from  the 
woods. 

Her  fears  set  at  rest,  Sa-allie  turns  and  walks  on  with 
them  for  some  distance  before  it  occurs  to  her  that  if 
Kotch-kul-ah  had  gone  with  the  children  the  returning 
party  is  not  complete.     Addressing  Kunz,  she  asks; 

"Who  is  coming  in  the  canoe?" 

*'  Nobody — what  canoe  ? " 

"The  old  canoe  you  children  always  take  when  you  go 
like  this,"  the  mother  answers. 

"We  didn't  take  any  canoe — we  couldn't  find  it  any- 
where this  morning;  the  witches  must  have  got  it,  don't 
you  s'pose,  mother?" 

"You  didn't  take  the  canoe?  You  couldn't  find  it? 
Where,  then,  is  Kotch-kul-ah?"  demands  Sa-allie. 

"Kotch-kul-ah!"  exclaim  the  children  in  tones  of  as- 
tonishment and  awe,  struck  by  the  look  of  consternation 
in  Sa-allie's  face.  "Kotch-kul-ah!  She  hasn't  been  with 
us  at  all." 

In  a  trice  the  news  has  travelled  from  end  to  end  of  the 
village.  The  people  come  out  from  their  houses;  and 
whether  standing  or  hurrying  hither  and  thither,  the  one 
and  all-absorbing  theme  is  the  disappearance  of  Kotch- 
kul-ah,  and  the  disappearance  of  the  witch,  and  the  disap- 
pearance of  the  old  canoe. 

"Could  it  be "  But  who  can  voice  the  many  solu- 
tions of  the  mystery  which  their  superstitions  suggest? 

Not  many  hours  have  passed  before  it  is  asserted  and 
believed  tfhat  during  the  night  the  witch  was  seen  to  rise 
up  out  of  the  water  and  fly  over  to  the  dead-houses,  from 
which  she  presently  emerged,  hovered  over  the  house  of 
the  dead  chief's  widow,  and,  by  demoniacal  power, 
brought  to  her  arms  from  the  room  below  the  helpless 
Kotch-kul-ah,  whereupon  she  caused  the  canoe  to  rise, 


I20 


KIN.DA.SHON'S    WIFE: 


pass  under,  and  convey  them  as  on  wings  over  the  dark 
waters,  where  they  eventually  disappeared,  as  a  raven,  to 
the  opposite  distant  shore. 

Nothing  is  done  toward  sending  out  parties  in  search 
until  next  morning.  Then  the  country  between  the  vil- 
lages is  pretty  thoroughly  scoured,  and  the  villages  them- 
selves soon  set  agog  by  the  new  excitement. 

Kasko  thus  finds  himself  in  t'-«e  company  of  the  search 
party  going  to  Chilkoot.  Having  crossed  the  portage, 
the  party  divides,  one  half  going  by  land,  the  other  by 
water — the  former  making  an  examination  of  every  dead- 
house  on  the  route.  To  insure  their  ownsafety  they  carry 
a  stout  rope  of  sinew,  which  is  to  be  made  fast  about  the 
waist  of  the  man  who  ventures  in  to  examine  the  boxes  of 
bones  and  ashes,  the  other  end  being  held  with  a  strong 
grasp  by  the  remainder  of  the  party,  who  stand  ready  to 
drag  him  back  if  any  haunting  spirit  should  prove  too 
powerful  for  him. 

Those  who  go  by  water,  with  the  same  precaution  visit 
the  caves  along  the  shore  where  the  unburned  bodies  of 
medicine-men  have  been  laid  from  time  to  time  through 
many  generations.  As  these  are  places  peculiarly  attrac- 
tive to  spirits  of  many  kinds,  every  one  who  is  obliged  to 
approach  or  jx-'ss  them  resorts  to  means  which,  it  is  hoped, 
will  divert  the  attention  of  such  demons  as  are  disposed 
to  attack  the  int'-iders,  and  appease  their  anger  also. 

So  as  the  canoe  glides  near  the  ^acred  and  unholy 
places,  eagle's  down  is  blown  about  through  the  air  on 
every  side  by  the  men,  chanting  at  the  same  time  strange 
words  of  invocation.  As  they  proceed  bits  of  tobacco  and 
other  delicacies  are  tossed  into  the  water. 

They  visit,  too,  the  picture  rocks  on  the  right  of  the 
Chilkoot  channel,  where,  among  the  many  weird  shapes, 
are  two  of  more  than  ordinary  influence,  it  is  believed. 


■k 
o 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY, 


131 


One  is  a  medicine-man  and  the  other  a  woman  held  by 
enchantment  and  turned  to  stone. 

The  place  is  approached  with  the  utmost  caution  and 
an  awe  which  at  times  amounts  to  terror.  Offerings  and 
invocations  are  made  before  these  shapes  as  to  evil  gods. 

Kasko  has  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  come  face  to  face 
with  these  things,  and  his  brave  young  spirit,  though  ter- 
rified, rejoices  at  the  opportunity  of  thus  coming,  before 
he  had  expected,  into  contact  with  so  much  connected 
with  the  supernatural  world.  It  is  as  though  his  under- 
taking had  been  blessed — yet  who  is  there  to  bless  it? 

Both  parties  reach  Chilkoot,  as  all  the  other  parties  on 
this  errand  reach  their  destinations,  without  a  single  dis- 
covery as  to  the  disturbance  of  boxes  or  bodies  or  as  to 
the  whereabouts  of  the  missing  from  Yhin-da-stachy. 
After  their  return  to  that  place,  reporting  the  ill-success 
of  their  labors,  there  is  much  excitement;  but  gradually 
other  happenings  place  this  event  in  the  background,  and 
life  goes  on  much  the  same  as  before. 

In  the  mean  time  Kasko,  after  rehearsing  to  his  grannie 
all  the  occurrences  of  Yhin-da-stachy,  including  the  de- 
parture of  his  father's  party  for  the  south,  the  detention 
of  Tashekah,  and  this  later  matter  of  interest,  unfolds  to 
her  his  own  determination  to  be  a  medicine-man,  carefully 
concealing  from  her,  however,  the  discovery  he  has  made 
in  regard  to  his  father's  state  of  health. 

Her  approval  is  warm  enough  to  meet  his  expectations. 

"You  are  right,  Kasko,"  she  says;  "and,  what's  more, 
another  fast  has  been  set  for  this  very  moon — the  solemn 
fast  to  see  if  the  spirit  of  the  great  medicine-priest  who 
left  this  village  many  years  ago  will  stoop  to  enter  any 
flesh  again.     The  fast  begins  to-night." 

"  How  many  times  have  the  people  tried  these  fasts  and 
made  themselves  ready  ♦^•^  »-tceive  him,  grannie?" 


122 


KIX.DA.SHON'  S    WIFE: 


"I  cannot  tell.  Every  year  since  before  you  were 
born." 

"  And  no  one  has  ever  yet  got  the  spirit  ? " 

"  Do  you  forget  what  I  have  often  told  you — that  your 
mother  got  more  than  she  could  keep  her  owa  life  with  ? 
She  gave  her  own  for  that  medicine-spirit  in  you,  boy,  yet 
you  have  kept  it  sleeping  all  these  years." 

"Yes,  yes,  grannie;  I  believe  it.  I  have/?//  the  spirit^ 
but,  oh!  I  have  no  poiver !  If  I  could  find ///«/ I  would 
give  my  life  for  it." 

"  And  how  are  you  to  find  it?  By  shooting  the  eagle 
and  the  bear?  By  lying  in  wait  for  the  halibut  or  the 
^eal  ?  By  running  the  country  over  with  Tashekah  for 
lost  birds'  feathers  and  rabbits'  tails?"  she  asks  with 
q'ierulous  reproach. 

**  How  ftf«  I  get  it,  grannie?"  Kasko  asks,  with  the 
meekness  of  true  desire;  then  he  adds:  "These  things 
which  you  despise  may  have  helped  me  to  want  to  know." 

"  How  to  get  it  is  not  what  you  have  been  long  wanting 
to  know.  With  all  the  fasts  since  you  came  into  the 
world,  not  once  has  any  one  got  a  true  sign  of  that  power ; 
yet  yott  could  never  i^e  persuaded  to  give  yourself  to  the 
trial.  Can  you  do  it  now?  It  may  be  nine  or  ten  days 
without  eating  or  drinking  before  you  are  able  to  get  it, 
but  I  am  just  as  ceitain  that  it  will  come  to  you,  and  to 
no  one  else,  as  I  am  that  our  people  are  dying  with  none 
to  help.  Will  you  do  it,  Kasko?  Will  you  give  your ///^ 
— if  it  has  to  come  to  that — to  get  that  power?  Will  you 
doit?" 

"I  will  do  it,''  the  boy  answers,  with  white,  set  lips. 

"Good:  This  very  night  the  feast  begins  in  the  house 
of  Chief  Kush-kwa.  Go  to  the  salt  water;  make  yourself 
ready;  drink  of  it,  and  empty  your  stomach  with  a 
feather;  drink  again;  purge  yourself ;  cleanse  your  outer 


J.V  ALASKAN   STORY. 


123 


body  .'liso,  and  take  your  place  in  the  house  of  fasting  and 
wait  without  speech." 

"Wh.1t  then,  grannie — if  it  comes?" 

"If  it  comes  you  will  know  y^\vz.\.  then,  and  my  words 
will  be  as  wind.  But  he  lived,  through  many  a  winter's 
snows  and  summer's  rains  and  sun,  in  the  rocks  of  the 
mountains  among  the  wild  beasts,  whose  living  flesh  he 
tore  and  ate  while  it  quivered,  drinking  their  warm  blood 
also  to  make  his  strength  more  fierce  to  battle  with  all 
spirits.  But  it  is  time  you  were  off,  boy;  go  to  the  near- 
est salt  water  and  do  as  I  bid  you;  then  come  again  by 
the  way  of  the  dead-houses — and  speak  to  no  one," 

Without  a  word  Kosko  rises  to  his  feet  and  slowly 
crosses  the  room  to  his  own  particular  corner.  His  little 
box  of  boyish  trea:"res  is  looked  over,  closed,  and  set 
away;  his  bow  is  unstrung  and  hung  with  his  quiver  of 
arrows  out  of  common  reach — it  is  the  boy's  farewell  to 
himself.  Then,  taking  a  clean  cotton  shirt,  he  turns  and 
leaves  the  house.  Following  the  narrow  footpath  south 
for  a  half-mile,  he  reaches  the  sal',  water  of  the  inlet, 
where  he  faithfully  accomplishes  all  that  grannie  has  di- 
rected him  to  do. 

It  is  growing  dusk  as  he  re-enters  the  village  by  way 
of  the  dead-houses.  The  boy  has  eaten  nothing  since  the 
early  start  from  Yhin-da-stachy,  and  the  day  has  been  one 
of  peculiar  excitement  and  strain  to  him.  As  he  passes 
through  theshadowsof  these  hauntsof  evil,  it  is  with  such 
nerve  sensations  as  he  has  never  before  experienced  in  all 
his  healthy  boyhood-,  and  it  Is  with  a  mixture  of  joy  and 
awe  that  he  acknowledges  these  sensations  to  himself, 
feeling  alive  as  never  before  to  mystic  influences. 

It  is  thus  that  he  enters  the  great  house  into  which  have 
gathered  not  only  the  medicine-men  of  this  village,  but 
others  from  Klok-won  in  this  way  signify  their  willing- 


124 


KIN.DA-SHON'  S    WIFE: 


ness  to  increase  their  reputation,  if  it  should  so  be  that 
the  greater  medicine-spirit  of  old  should  on  such  an  occa- 
sion as  this  single  out  one  to  receive  his  mighty  power. 
Several  other  boys  also  have  presented  themselves  as  can- 
didates for  the  profession,  though  Kasko  is  the  only  one 
who  has  made  any  preparation  for  the  ordeal. 

The  house  is  in  its  weirdest  light — just  light  enough  to 
see  the  darkness  by.  The  tones  of  the  priests,  or  medi- 
cine-men, are  all  sepulchral,  and  as  horrid  r'tes  and  fear- 
ful, expectant  silences  follow  each  other,  Kasko's  sensa- 
tions lose  none  of  their  force. 

It  is  not,  however,  until  the  night  of  the  h  .,ti.  uay  of 
almost  sleepless  fasting  and  invocatic.i,  with  the  forced 
concentration  of  every  faculty  on  this  one  desire,  that, 
in  Kasko,  the  last  fibre  of  resistance  is  overcome,  and 
with  a  shriek  which  seems  to  proceed  from  the  caverns  of 
an  under- world  the  boy,  as  he  believes,  is  taken  posses- 
sion of  by  the  mighty  spirit.  By  a  power  uncontrollable 
the  lithe  young  body  is  thrown  about  the  great  room,  is 
doubled  and  twisted  and  knotted  in  a  thousand  contor- 
tions, like  a  fowl  deprived  of  its  head.  It  is  thumped 
against  t'le  floor  and  again  flung  high  enough  to  touch  the 
beams — backward  and  forward,  into  every  corner  of  l!  - 
house,  no  one  daring  to  lay  a  hand  on  him,  but  keepi.  ^ 
as  far  as  possible  out  of  the  way. 

No  one  questions  the  genuineness  of  this  gift;  such 
demonstrations  are  not  seen  with  the  making  of  every 
doctor.  The  old  men  have  imitated  it  to  the  best  of  their 
nbility,  but  this  is  plainly  not  of  their  kind.  The  boys 
have  slipped  out  and  given  the  word  t  il'o  villagers, 
who,  awe-struck,  nov/  crowd  about  the  door.  Among  tl  n 
is  grannie,  who,  seeing  the  dream  of  her  life  reali/<.'J 
rejoices. 

At  length  the  body  of  the  boy,  with  still  more  violent 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


\2< 


aciion,  strikes  a  beam  and  falls,  writhing  and  foaming  at 
the  mouth,  working  in  convulsions  horrible  to  see;  and,  at 
la=«^^,  yielding  to  a  still  rigidity  more  terrible  to  the  be- 
holder than  the  paroxysms  which  have  preceded  it.  But 
as  morning  steals  into  the  little  valley  village  the  convul- 
sions return  with  the  foaming  at  mouth.  The  eyes  are 
wide  open,  with  a  glittering  expression  never  before  seen 
in  the  clear,  steady  eyes  of  Kasko.  He  tears  his  scant 
clothing  from  off  him  and  flings  it  afar.  He  jumps  to 
his  feet,  still  with  uncontrollable  impulse,  and  springing 
through  the  door,  dashes  down  the  village  street,  men  and 
dogs  alike  fleeing  from  his  path.  One  poor  unfortunate 
dog,  bewildered,  takes  the  path  straight  before  the  pos- 
sessed, whose  speed  is  that  of  the  wind.  The  dog  is  over- 
taken, seized  upon,  and  in  an  instant  his  throat  is  torn 
open  by  the  teeth  of  the  bloodthirsty  demoniac.  After 
satisfying  his  craving,  the  yourg  Icht  tosses  aside  the 
carcass,  turns,  dashes  back  through  the  village  as  he 
came;  on  into  the  jungle  west  of  the  lake  he  pi  nges,  and 
from  it  he  ascends  to  the  mountains  lying  between  Chil- 
koot  and  the  village  Klok-won,  no  one  daring  to  follow. 


26 


KIN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


CHAPTER   XI. 


A     DAYS     OUTING 


) 


HE    village  of  Kutwulhtoo  has  not  been  all  these 


lays  without  a  sensation  of  its  own.  No  sooner 
hau  e  news  penetrated  to  the  girls'  prison,  and  they 
became  aware  that  a  large  number  of  the  houE-^hold 
would  go  to  Yhin-da-stachy  to  mourn  the  death  of  Chief 
Kood-wot,  than  their  long-cherished  plan  for  a  taste  of 
life  and  liberty  matured,  and  they  at  once  set  about  its 
fulfilment. 

With  their  fingers  and  one  horn  spoon  which  had  been 
left  them,  Kalhga  and  Shawet-honga  made  rapid  inroads 
on  their  prison  walls,  their  almost  noiseless  work  going 
on  unnoticed  by  those  who  wept  and  made  ready  for  the 
jouiney  in  the  main  house. 

So  it  happened  that  when  the  canoes  had  dropped  down 
the  stream  one  after  another,  naught  remained  between 
the  girls  and  freedom  save  a  crust  of  root-grown  turf,  the 
breaking  of  which  they  only  deferred  in  order  to  make 
their  exit  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances. 

So  much  done,  they  returned  to  the  room  next  that  of 
the  family,  where  they  crouched  down  and  listened. 

The  sire  was  crooning  to  himself  some  mournful  mel- 
ody; some  one  was  moving  about  the  apartment,  and  pres- 
ently, in  his  shrill,  piping  voice,  the  old  man  asked: 

"Where  are  you  going,  Gu-nedt?" 

"Where  should  I  be  going,  sire,  when  the  food  is  K  w, 
and  no  one  to  look  after  it  but  me?" 

"Have  we  nothing  to  eat?" 


h 
e 
c 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


"Yes,  plenty  to  eat — for  to-day;  but  the  to-morrows 
have  mouths  wide  open,  and  I  must  find  beast  or  bird, 
else  we  live  on  fish.  There's  no  telling  when  Kun-ul-koo 
comes  nor  what  he  brings.  He  goes  as  the  wind  goes — 
and  takes  much  or  nothing  as  it  falls." 

"Beast  or  bird!  "  whined  the  old  man,  not  noticing  the 
lower-spoken  remarks  of  the  slave.  "  Beast  or  bird — and 
eggs.  I  v/ant  eggs,  Gu-nedt;  and  bear's  flesh.  Ah,  it 
seems  long  since  we  tasted  of  bear.  I  can  smell  it  on 
the  fire  now.     Ah,  make  haste  and  bring  it." 

"  It's  not  likely  I  shall  come  again  to-night,  if  I  go  for 
bear.     I  will  st.  " 

"Did  Kun-ul-kou  go  to  the  mountains?  Will  my  wife's 
brother  bring  chickens?  Where  is  my  wife ?  She  likes 
not  to  stay  with  me.  Looking  after  a  young  husband,  I'll 
make  sure.     Have  you  seen  her,  Gu-nedt  ? " 

"  I  saw  her  sitting  on  the  river  bank  just  after  the 
canoes  let  go;  she  and  other  women,  with  their  children, 
and  they  were  talking  about  the  chief." 

"  'About  the  chief!  '  Just  as  I  thought.  He's  a  pretty 
one  for  women  to  be  talking  about — women  with  hus- 
bands of  their  own,  too!  Go  and  tell  her  to  come  here. 
Yealh-neddy,  indeed  I  I'll  teach  her  a  little  something. 
Bring  her  here!  " 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  Yealh-neddy,"  said  the  slave. 
"They  were  talking  about  the  dead  chief  Kood-wot." 

"Talking  about  the  dead  chief  Kood-wot,  were  they? 
Just  like  women!  A  dead  stranger  is  more  than  their 
living  own.  But  that  deceives  me  not,  Gu-nedt.  it  was 
the  young  man  they  were  thinking  about.  She'd  better  be 
careful.  Maybe  if  she  knew  I'd  kill  myself — she  will 
have  a  chance  to  do  another  kind  of  thinking  when  she 
has  to  give  her  life  and  all  the  blankets  her  friends  can 
raise  to  pay  for  what  she's  made  me  do.     I'll  do  it  somr 


138 


KIN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE. 


day,  see  if  I  don't!  Just  let  her  push  me  a  little  closer 
to  the  wall.     Bring  her  in,  do  you  hear,  Gu-nedt?" 

"Ah,  sire,  I'm  just  off,  and  I'll  send  her  in." 

"And  don't  forget  the  bear's  meat — and  the  eggs,  Gu- 
nedt!" 

The  slave  was  heard  to  leave  the  house;  and,  left  to 
himself,  the  old  man  continued  to  mutter  his  complaints. 

Many  minutes  passed;  evidently  the  young  wife  was 
not  made  frantic  by  the  slave's  message.  She  had  left 
the  old  man  in  physical  comfort,  and  now  chose  to  take  a 
little  herself. 

As  time  passed  the  girls  were  assured  that  the  slave 
was  well  out  of  the  way,  and  as  their  day's  rations  had 
been  given  them,  they  were  not  likely  to  be  sought  and 
missed  from  within  the  house.  So,  returning  to  their 
earthworks,  they  cautiously  listened  for  outer  signs  of 
life. 

Nothing  could  be  heard  save  the  somewhat  di.stant 
shout.,  of  children  at  play — sounds  which  the  girls  had 
but  little  difficulty  in  locating. 

Circumstances  so  favorable  made  further  delay  unneces- 
sary, and  in  a  few  moments  more  the  girls  stood  among 
the  rankly  growing  ferns  and  alder  bushes,  which  com- 
pletely hid  the  place  of  their  egress. 

For  some  time  they  were  so  blinded  by  the  light  of  day 
that  they  were  obliged  to  sit  quietly  down  in  the  thick 
green  shade  and  cover  their  eyes.  But,  impatient  as  they 
were  to  be  entirely  free  of  the  village,  they  soon  wove  for 
themselves  head-dresses  of  ferns  and  grass,  which  an- 
swered the  double  purpose  of  shading  their  eyes  from  the 
unaccustomed  glare  and  entirely  concealing  their  features. 

"Go  you  first,  Shawet-honga,  and  get  to  the  playing 
children  from  the  river  way;  by  and  by  I  will  come  as 
from  the  wood." 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


129 


"Ah!  and  if  we  meet  any  on  the  way  we  will  keep  our 
heads  covered  just  as  they  are,  and  dance  along  as  if 
dressed  for  that." 

"  That's  a  thought  good  to  keep.     Now,  do  go!  " 

Very  softly,  without  rising  to  her  feet,  Shawet-honga 
crept  back  from  the  house  through  the  bushes.  On  reach- 
ing the  outer  edge  of  the  thicket  she  stood  up  and  took 
a  survey.  The  path  was  clear;  in  the  distance  she  could 
see,  though  not  very  distinctly,  the  moving  shapes  of  chil- 
dren at  play.  Bravely,  but  with  a  little  choking  sensa- 
tion, she  took  to  the  open,  at  first  vlth  slow  steps  and  a 
careless  air,  which  gradually  gave  place  to  a  spirited  run. 

"Here  comes  Son-da-ooh,"  cried  the  first  girl  who  no- 
ticed her  approach.  Then  to  the  new-comer:  "I  thought 
your  mother  said  you  couldn't  come?" 

"  Well,  don't  make  so  much  noise  about  it  if  you  want 
me  to  stay,"  quickly  responded  Shawet-honga,  glad  to 
take  advantage  of  the  other's  mistake.  "Come,  let  us 
have  a  feast  and  make  new  dresses  like  mine.  I  know 
Where's  some  good  long  thorns  growing  over  there,  and 
pack-loads  of  ferns  and  things  to  fix  up  in." 

" Good!  good!  "  came  from  one  and  all. 

"  Let  the  Ravens  give  the  feast  and  we  Kog-won-tons 
will  do  the  dancing,"  cried  Shawet-hcnga  from  under  her 
mask;  "when  we  are  dressed  no  one  will  know  her  own 
sister!  Come,  boys  and  girls,  see  who  will  get  first  to 
the  rocks  over  there.     Fll  make  the  dresses." 

And  away  went  the  Kog-won-tons,  running  and  jump- 
ing, the  girls  with  spread  arms  flying,  the  boys  on  all 
fours  as  different  animals. 

To  sustain  the  honor  of  their  tribe  the  Ravens  scoured 

the  country  around  for  supplies.     In  low,  dense  shades 

the  yan-a-ate  was  still  found  tender  and  crisp,  though 

somewhat  bitter.     On  sunny  exposures  the  berries  were 

9 


13© 


KIX.DA.SHON'  S    WIFE: 


ripening — great  quantities  of  the  low,  red  bunch-berry, 
and  salmon-berries  both  yellow  and  red,  large  and  lus- 
cious; wild  parsnips  and  native  rice  helped  to  make  up  no 
mean  bill  of  fare  for  this  mimic  feast. 

In  the  mean  time  Kalhga,  also  without  discovery, 
joined  the  Kog-won-tons,  who  were  rapidly  getting  into 
their  ferns  and  feathers.  Her  arrival  was  deftly  covered 
by  Shawet-honga;  so  that  although  there  had  been  in- 
ward questionings  as  to  the  voice  which  was  not  like  Son- 
da-ooh's  voice,  no  one  suspected  any  connection  between 
the  two  girls,  or  guessed  who  they  really  were. 

At  length  the  feast  was  ready.  A  lovely  moss-grown 
grotto  had  been  chosen  as  the  place  of  festivity.  On 
three  sides  the  rocks  arose,  inclosing  it;  a  little  cascade 
fell  musically  and  flowed  away  softly  among  the  mosses; 
airy-fairy  ferns  jutted  out  here  and  there  from  crevices  in 
the  wall,  and,  far  above,  fir  and  hemlock  spread  their 
branches,  as  if  to  cover  this  house  of  beauty.  On  the 
unprotected  side  a  natural  sloping  avenue  made  entrance 
easy. 

At  the  farther  end  of  this  natural  room  gathered  the 
Ravens  with  their  hospitable  supplies,  and  soon  was  given 
the  signal  announcing  the  approach  of  the  Kog-won-tons. 
They  came  in  single  file,  with  costumes  grotesque  and 
fanciful.  As  they  neared  the  entrance  a  peculiarly  lively 
tune  was  struck  up  by  the  leader  of  the  procession,  and 
joined  in  by  all  the  dancers,  as  one  by  one  they  sprang 
into  the  inclosure  and  took  the  prominent  place  in  the 
performance,  then  passed  on  to  a  more  subdued  part, 
which  was  kept  up  as  a  sort  of  accompaniment  to  those 
who  followed. 

When  the  dance  was  finished  off  came  the  masks  in  un- 
ceremonious haste,  revealing  the  runaway  girls  to  their 
unsuspecting  playfellows.     An  unspoken  fear  fell  upon 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


131 


the  younger  children,  but  the  girls  themselves  were  for 
the  time  utterly  reckless,  and  their  wild  spirits  were  in- 
fectious. The  whole  party  soon  became  more  gay  than 
before. 

The  refreshments  were  brought  out  and  served  on  broad, 
shining  leaves  of  the  skunk  cabbage;  and  by  dint  of 
pinning  up  with  thorns,  similar  leaves  were  made  to  do 
duty  for  cups,  and  were  filled  at  the  cascade. 

Shawet-honga  and  Kalhga  were  fully  realizing  their 
hope  of  a  good  time— when  suddenly,  as  such  things  al- 
ways come,  there  fell,  though  harmlessly,  among  the 
feasters  an  arrow,  tipped  in  a  boy's  fantastic  fashion 
with  brilliantly  colored  tassels  of  porcupine  quills  and 
wool. 

Instantly  every  eye  was  raised  in  the  direction  whence 
it  had  come,  but  the  lacework  of  foliage  against  the  clear 
blue  of  the  sky,  with  the  momentary  passage  of  a  bird  be- 
yond, was  all  that  the  keenest  eye  could  detect. 

Presently  a  handful  of  fir-cones  came  showering  down, 
and  then,  after  a  little,  a  snowy  fall  of  ptarmigan  feathers; 
and,  almost  before  they  had  reached  the  ground,  the  song 
to  which  the  children  had  danced  was  heard  again  just 
outside  the  entrance  of  their  grotto. 

Startled  as  deer,  they  looked  out  to  see — a  more  wonder- 
fully gotten-up  guest  than  had  before  appeared,  dancing 
into  their  midst.  It  was  a  boy  about  sixteen  years  old, 
dressed  in  a  leather  hunting-suit.  Drawn  tightly  over 
the  left  shoulder  and  around  the  body  was  a  scarlet 
blanket;  from  his  belt  hung  a  number  of  the  beautiful 
ptarmigan,  somewhat  mutilated  by  the  loss  of  breast  feath- 
ers and  the  wings  which  appeared  in  the  boy's  head-dress; 
from  each  shoulder,  spread  as  wings,  were  his  snow-shoes, 
and  as  he  danced  these  were  made  to  flutter  as  a  bird's  in 
flight. 


13a 


KIN-DA.SHON'S    WIFE: 


**  Kun-ul-koo!  Kun-ul-koo!  It  is  Kun-ul-koo!"  was 
heard  on  every  side  in  tones  of  pleasant  surprise  from  the 
children;  but  consternation  had  fallen  on  the  runaway 
girls — consternation  which  was  matched  only  by  that 
which  seized  their  young  relative  as  he  recognized  them 
a  moment  later. 

Short  as  this  interval  had  been,  it  was  long  enough  for 
their  quick  wits  to  give  them  a  position  between  Kun-ul- 
koo  and  the  opening  in  the  wall.  Not  waiting  to  hear 
more  than  his  muttered  "Hl'goss!"  (evil  omen),  their 
feet  took  wings,  and  down  the  path  they  flew  toward  the 
village,  which  a  few  hours  before  they  had  left  so  quietly. 
All  their  care  now  was  to  reach  the  covert  they  had  left. 

Closely  pursued  by  Kun-ul-koo,  who  had  stopped  only 
to  free  himself  of  his  snow-shoe  wings,  the  girls  were 
filled  with  terror  as  they  found  him  gaining  on  them;  yet 
the  very  fleeing  itself,  the  free  action  of  the  race  gave 
them  a  certain  exultation  of  spirit — an  ecstasy  of  life 
which  is  not  experienced  by  many  in  the  whole  course  of 
an  earthly  existence. 

Impelled  by  this  dual  force,  and  with  Kun-ul-koo  just 
at  their  heels,  they  dared  not  turn  into  their  bush-hidden 
refuge;  their  strength  was  failing  also,  and  as  the  house 
was  reached  they  barely  saved  themselves  from  his  hand 
by  dodging  into  the  open  doorway. 

The  door  was  quickly  closed  upon  them,  and  a  call  was 
sent  down  the  village  street  which  soon  brought  help 
enough  to  capture  the  poor,  tired  children.  Men  and 
women  came  thronging  in,  with  sticks  and  straps  and 
angry  words,  to  punish  those  who  had  so  wickedly  chal- 
lenged the  powers  of  evil  to  assail  their  village.  It  v.-as 
a  matter  of  common  concern  that  each  and  all  do  their 
utmost  to  avert  catastrophe,  and  to  attend  to  the  vile 
offenders  was  the  first  thing  in  order;    and  from  corner  to 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


133 


corner  the  poor  little  culprits  were  driven  by  the  lash  and 

cudgel. 

In  the  mean  time  examination  had  revealed  the  way  of 
their  escape  from  prison;  and  strong  hands  had  soon  en- 
tirely demolished  the  outer  earth  room,  closed  the  little 
door  between  it  and  the  plank-lined  room,  and  banked  up 
against  it  the  heavy  clods  which  remained  of  the  broken 
outer  wall,  making  the  one  inner  closet  altogether  secure. 
Into  this  they  thrust  Kalhga  alone  and  made  fast  the 
door. 

Taking  up  from  the  floor  a  small  trap-door,  another 
cave  was  opened;  it  was  about  three  feet  square,  and  into 
this  hole  Shawet-honga  was  let  down  without  much  ten- 
derness. A  strong  slat  door  was  fastened  over  the  open- 
ing, and  over  it  was  thrown  a  squirrel-skin  robe,  to  ex- 
clude light  and  air  still  more  effectually. 

Ten  days  have  elapsed  since  the  departure  from  Klok- 
won  of  Shans-ga-gate's  party  for  the  mourning  at  Yhin- 
da-stachy,  when  their  return  is  announced,  and  a  large 
proportion  of  the  village  folk  turn  out  to  see  them  and 
to  hear  all  that  can  be  told  of  the  doings  at  the  lower 

village. 

The  tongues  of  Shans-ga-gate  and  his  wife  have  greatly 
loosened  since  leaving  Yhin-da-stachy,  and  soon  both  are 
volubly  entertaining  the  friends  who  have  filled  their 
house,  while  in  other  houses  and  on  the  village  street 
other  audiences  are  similarly  he''  by  other  members  of 
the  party. 

Their  daughters  are  not  the  least  interested  of  those 
who  listen  to  the  talk  of  Shans-ga-gate  and  Sha-ga-uk. 
The  younger  ones  hang  closely  about  their  parents,  and 
whether  listening  or  not,  they  offer  no  interruption  by 
word  or  deed.  Two  older  daughters— married— sit  by 
nursing  their  little  ones;  and  back,  with  modest  and  re- 


134 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


tiring  manner,  is  Kahs-teen,  a  girl  of  fifteen  who  has  but 
lately  been  released  from  her  two-years'  confinement ;  at- 
tracting no  attention  herself,  she  is  giving  the  closest 
heed  to  the  story  of  Kotch-kul-ah's  disappearance  from 
Yhin-da-stachy. 

A  feeling  nearly  akin  to  sympathy  begins  to  warm  her 
heart  as  she  realizes  something  of  the  girl's  position;  and 
again  and  again  arises  the  question  as  to  her  own  case: 
"What  will  they  do  with  me?" 

The  answer  is  nearer  than  she  imagines,  for  all  the  vil- 
lagers have  not  yet  left  the  house  before  Sha-ga-uk  turns 
to  her  daughter  with  : 

**  It's  quite  time  that_jv;/<!  were  having  a  husband,  Kahs- 
teen.     Where  shall  one  be  found  for  you  ?" 

A  quick  blush  overspreads  the  girl's  pale  fa  id  the 

eyes  are  dropped  painfully  down;  she  answers  not  a  word. 
With  a  little  laugh  the  mother  proceeds: 

"While  we  were  at  Yhin-da-stachy,  Yah-doos-kah  spoke 
for  her  son,  Kun-ul-koo.  He  is  a  good  son,  she  said,  and 
they  have  fifty  blankets  for  him,  besides  a  sea-otter  skin, 
to  give  for  you — for  he  wants  you,  and  his  mother  and 
her  husband  are  pleased.  Have  you  nothing  to  say  ?  It's 
not  every  girl  that  is  asked  that  question." 

A  bright  uplifting  of  the  eyes  and  their  instant  drop- 
ping again  is  the  girl's  only  reply. 

"  I  told  Yah-doos-kah  that  they  might  come  here  to  talk 
about  it  after  they  get  home;  that  will  not  be  many  days 
from  now,  and  if  you  have  anything  to  say  against  it  you 
had  better  say  it  now." 

Both  grave  and  gay  expressions  have  played  over  the 
girl's  face  as  her  mother  spoke,  but  still  there  is  no  word 
from  her  lips. 

"  What  do  you  say,  daughter  ?  Is  your  heart  for  Kun- 
ul-koo,  or — shall  we  take  an  old  man  for  you?" 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


I3S 


**  If  the  hearts  of  my  mother  and  my  father  lake  the 
boy,  he  is  mine,"  comes  the  shy  but  decided  answer. 

"We  will  hear  his  friends  speak,  then.  I  want  you  to 
learn  much  more  of  woman's  work,  Kahs-teen.  Your 
fingers  are  small  and  nimble;  there  are  no  better  baskets 
in  the  country  than  yours;  and  your  dyeing  is  good;  yoii 
take  patterns  without  worry,  and  make  others  as  good  as 
your  grandmother's. 

"  This  year  you  must  do  more.  When  the  hunters  be- 
gin to  come  in  next  moon  with  sheep  from  the  mountains 
you  must  comb  the  wool  as  you  did  wlion  you  were  a  lit- 
tle girl,  and  then  make  it  into  rolls  and  twist  he  yarn ; 
make  the  dyes  and  cob  r  it,  not  for  your  husband's  stock- 
ings only,  but  for  a  dancing-blanket.  And  you  shall  put 
one  in  a  loom  the  same  day  that  I  do.  We  can  use  the 
same  pattern,  and  will  see  whose  shall  be  the  finest." 

IJright  with  interest,  the  girl's  eyes  are  lifted  now  full 
to  her  mother's  face. 

"You  have  one  in  the  frame  now,  my  mother.  See!  it 
is  not  more  than  half-done!  "  And  as  she  speaks  Kahs- 
teen  turns  and  raises  a  large  sheet,  resembling  oiled  silk, 
sewed  in  strips,  made  of  the  dressed  intestines  of  the  bear. 
The  seams  are  ornamented  with  little  tufts  of  bright-col- 
ored wool. 

Protecting  the  work  from  smoke  and  dust,  this  sheet 
hangs  from  the  top  of  the  carved  upright  frame,  over 
which  the  warp  of  the  blanket  is  stretched;  and  at  the 
side  of  this  loom,  in  a  bag  of  the  same  material  as  the 
sheet,  are  the  ivory  shuttles,  with  quantities  of  yellow, 
black,  blue,  and  white  yarns. 

Close  at  hand  is  the  pattern,  cut  and  painted  on  a  per- 
fectly hewn  plank,  the  exact  representation  of  a  Chilkat 
dancing-blanket,  actual  size. 

"  It  will  be  finished  before  your  yarn  is  ready.     And 


136 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


now  let  us  see  what  you  have  cooking  there  all  this  time; 
the  smell  of  it  makes  my  teeth  sharp." 

'*  Oh,  it's  ptarmigan,"  answers  the  younger  of  the  mar- 
ried daughters,  with  a  sly  smile  at  her  sister.  "They 
lost  their  wings,  poor  birds,  and  fell  at  Kahs-teen's 
feet." 

Burning  blushes  again  cover  the  girl's  face,  but  with 
ready  art  she  has  dropped  her  abundant  hair  over  it,  and 
through  the  glossy  mass  her  long,  slender  fingers  are  :un- 
ning  in  her  usual  manner  of  combing  it. 

During  the  forenoon  of  the  thir^  day  after  the  return 
of  Shans-ga-gate  and  his  wife,  a  canoe  turns  in  to  Klok- 
won  from  the  south;  and,  as  usual  in  such  an  ev.nt,  many 
eyes  are  directed  toward  it  from  its  very  first  appearance 
until  it  runs  to  shore. 

Lon^"  before  it  grinds  the  sand  in  landing,  the  village 
is  well  informed  as  to  its  occupants  and  the  object  of 
their  visit. 

Kahs-teen  has  been  sitting  quie''y  outside  her  father's 
house  door,  with  her  little  boxes  of  moisten  \  grasses, 
each  of  a  different  dye,  within  convenient  reach  at  work 
on  a  fine  basket — her  fingers  flying  in  and  out  with  a  ra- 
pidity bewildering  to  the  uninitiated. 

She  has  been  among  the  first  to  recognize  Kun-ul-koo 
and  his  relatives,  and  stopping  only  to  gather  her  ma- 
terials together,  she  hastens  into  the  house,  taking  a  po- 
sition well  back  at  one  side  of  the  room. 

"  There  is  a  sound  of  coming  strangers,  Kahs-teen. 
What  canoe  has  come  ?  Did  you  not  see  ?  "  soon  questions 
her  father,  looking  up  from  the  withes  he  is  putting  into 
shape  for  next  year's  snow-shoes. 

"Neh!  do  you  not  hear  me,  girl?  Who  has  but  just 
now  come  to  the  village?" 

"Some  friends  of  yours,  father,"  answered  the  girl,  set- 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


0/ 


tlingback  a  little  farther  into  the  shadow;  then  adding, 
'From  Kutwulhtoo." 

"  From  Kutwulhtoo,  are  they  ?  Then  put  up  your  weav- 
ing, wife;  there  is  matter  enough  to  attend  to  without 
that."  And  as  he  speaks  he  is  laying  up  his  own  work 
into  its  place  of  seasoning,  turning  only  in  time  to  re- 
ceive the  salutations  of  Yah-doos-kah  for  her  family  and 
the  friends  forming  their  council.  Kun-ul-koo  enters  in 
the  rear  of  the  party  and  takes  an  obscure  seat. 

The  strangers  are  given  the  place  of  honor  on  the  far- 
ther side  of  the  fireplace.  Sha-ga-uk  takes  a  seat  beside 
her  husband  in  front  of  Kahs-teen,  and  soon  one  and  an- 
other of  their  tribal  and  family  friends  have  gathered  in 
to  take  part  in  the  negotiations  and  to  act  as  witnesses  to 
the  important  contract  about  to  be  made. 

Kahs-teen  herself  has  pushed  aside  her  basket-work, 
and  gathering  a  blanket  about  her,  half-buries  herself 
from  sight.  Only  a  short  time  before  the  arrival  of  the 
strangers  the  little  girls  of  the  house  had  come  in  with 
baskets  of  salmon-berries,  gathered  while  the  dew  was  on 
them;  and  now,  in  truly  hospitable  fashion,  the  fruit  is 
brought  out  and  placed  before  the  guests.  The  constraint 
felt  by  both  parties  is  most  effectually  broken  up  by  this 
little  attention  and  the  pleasure  of  eating. 

The  preliminaries  having  been  settled  satisfactorily  by 
the  mothers,  it  is  now  th"  fathers  who  speak;  and  when 
the  empty  baskets  have  been  set  aside,  Nalh-say,  the  father 
of  Kun-ul-koo,  proceed;>  without  further  ceremony: 

"  Sha-ga-uk  and  Shans-ga-gate,  your  hearts  have  told 
you  the  cause  of  our  coming  to  your  place  to-day.  We 
thank  you  for  turning  your  faces  toward  us.  We  have  a 
son  who  is  to  us  as  our  hands  are — as  our  feet  are — as  our 
eyes  are;  he  is  a  good  son;  you  have  seen  him.  He  is 
tall,  he  is  straight,  he  is  fleet  of  foot,  his  arrow  is  sure, 


138 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


and  his  game-bag  is  always  full.  He  is  slow  of  speech, 
as  becomes  a  youth,  but  his  heart  is  strong  and  his  wits 
are  good.  All  this  is  true,  and  yet  he  is  but  three  parts 
of  a  four-limbed  man.  He  must  have  a  wife.  He  has  set 
his  thoughts  on  the  daughter  of  your  house;  his  thoughts 
please  his  family ;  we  are  come  to  talk  of  these  things. 
Will  you  hear  us?  " 

"You  shall  be  heard,  friends,"  is  the  dignified  answer 
of  Shans-ga-gate. 

"  Hear,  then,  what  is  offered  as  the  sign  of  your  daugh- 
ter's worth.  Kun-ul-koo  will  bring  to  you  a  sea-otter, 
best  loved  by  the  traders,  and,  besides,  five  tens  of  blank- 
ets.    Let  us  hear  your  heart  speak." 

Shans-ga-gate  and  his  wife,  with  their  friends,  could 
not  have  been  self-approved  in  accepting  even  a  more 
generous  offer  at  once  or  without  parley;  so,  after  a  little 
talk  among  themselves  over  the  virtues  and  accomplish- 
ments of  Kahs-teen,  her  father  speaks : 

"You  give  us  honor,  O  friends,  in  asking  from  us  a 
wife  for  your  illustrious  son.  We  believe  him  all  you 
say.  You  know  him  well,  but  our  daughter  you  do  not 
know.  She  is  very  dear  to  us;  she  is  both  flower  and 
fruit.  No  man  has  spoken  to  her.  According  to  her 
class,  she  has  been  hid  from  the  light  for  two  years.  She 
is  white  as  cotton  ever  brought  from  the  south.  She  is 
not  lazy;  the  work  of  her  hands  goes  far  beyond  her 
father's  house.  She  will  soon  know  all  that  her  wise 
mother,  Sha-ga-uk,  can  teach  her — to  tan  the  leather  for 
the  broidered  moccasins  she  works,  to  make  the  dancing- 
blanket  from  the  sheep's  wool;  also  to  cure  the  fish,  make 
the  oil,  preserve  the  berries,  and  everything  that  a  high- 
class  woman  must  teach  her  slaves.  You  know  not  half 
her  worth,  friends!  " 

"  It  is  true,"  now  speaks  Yah-doos-kah,     **  Kahs-teen  is 


I 


.4 


AN   ALASKAN   STORY. 


139 


I 


very  dear,  but  our  son's  love  is  strong;  he  shall  give  more. 
We  have  copper,  found  long,  long  ago,  washed  up  from 
some  white  man's  loss — most  precious  of  all  our  posses- 
sions. Kun-ul-koo  shall  bring  enough  to  ornament  your 
knife." 

After  the  formality  of  a  word  with  Kahs-teen,  her 
mother  makes  answer : 

"We  are  willing  to  take  your  son  for  our  daughter's 
husband.  He  shall  live  with  us  first  as  a  son  of  the  house 
for  six  moons,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  you  shall  come 
again.  They  shall  see  each  other  and  know  the  sound  of 
each  other's  voice;  he  shall  know  us  better,  and  we  shall 
see  how  he  fits  in  our  house.  After  six  months,  if 
all  eyes  see  as  now,  bring  what  you  have  promised,  and 
Kun-ul-koo  shall  call  Kahs-teen  his  wife." 

To  this  all  agree;  and  after  but  little  further  talk  the 
Kutwulhtoo  people  take  their  departure.  Kun-ul-koo 
accompanies  them  only  to  their  canoe,  as  from  to-day 
he  is  as  much  a  m*  ber  of  Shans-ga-gate's  family  as 
Kin-da-shon  himself,  and  with  precisely  the  same  nrivi- 
leges  and  duties  as  a  son. 


K 


140 


KIN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


CHAPTER   XII. 


THE   TRIP    TO    FORT    SIMPSON — INTO    THE   LIGHT. 


T^EN  days  after  leaving  Yhin-da-stachy,  the  party  of 
•*•  Chilkats  en  route  to  Fort  Simpson  have  reached 
Stickeen  or  Fort  Wrangel,  some  two  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  south  of  the  Chilkat  peninsula;  and  having  been 
shown  the  customary  Kling-get  hospitality,  are  comfort- 
ably sheltered  in  a  large  house  built  as  a  memorial  to  de- 
ceased relatives,  and  kept  as  a  place  of  entertainment  for 
strangers — or,  more  accurately  speaking,  a  place  where 
strangers  stopping  over  at  the  settlement  may  freely  en- 
tertain themselves. 

They  are  rather  impatiently  awaiting  the  final  prepara- 
tions of  some  Tsimpseans  who  have  bargained  for  passage 
to  their  home  at  Fort  Simpson. 

Yealh-neddy,  ever  restless,  has,  after  the  first  few  hours 
of  looking  about,  found  the  delay  very  irksome,  and  had 
not  Kah-sha's  dign-ty  of  class  and  position  been  equal  to 
his  own,  he  would  have  caused  the  party  to  move  on,  re- 
gardless of  any  obligations  to  the  Tsimpseans.  As  it  is, 
Kah-sha  has  been  firm  in  holding  to  their  agreement  with 
the  men  of  the  south. 

Very  glad  indeed  was  the  sad-hearted  man  to  hear  the 
request  of  the  strangers — it  might  be  that  they  could  tell 
something  of  what  he  most  h  ped  to  get  by  this  journey. 
Why  not  ? 

"I  am  going  out  to  tell  them  that  we  can't  wait  over 
this  tide,"  says  Yealh-neddy.     "If  they  are  ready,  very 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


141 


good !  If  they  must  wait  to  wash  their  blankets,  they  can 
wait  till  we  come  next  year," 

With  this  the  young  chief  leaves  the  house  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  trading  store,  moving  with  long,  quick  strides. 
As  he  makes  the  turn  from  the  native  village  into  the 
white  portion  of  the  town  the  store  lies  in  full  view,  and 
there,  standing  before  its  door,  are  the  men  he  is  seeking. 

With  them,  engaged  in  earnest  conversation,  is  a  white 
man  whom  Yealh-neddy  has  never  before  seen.  A  num- 
ber of  Stickeens  are  standing  about,  and  of  them  he  asks: 

**  Who  is  this  white  man  ?     Does  he  want  to  buy  skins  ? " 

"No;  he  is  one  of  the  '  up  above  chief's'  men.  He 
doesn't  want  your  skins." 

"What  is  he  talking  about?    What  is  he  doing  here?" 

"What  is  he  doing  here  in  this  village,  do  you  mean?" 

"Yes;  what  is  he  doing  in  your  village?  Where  did 
he  come  from  ? " 

"He  came  from  the  white  man's  country,  of  course; 
the  steamboat  brought  him  last  time.  He  wants  to  go  to 
Fort  Simpson;  that's  what  he's  talking  about  now." 

"  He  wants  to  go  with  the  Tsimpseans — with  us — in  our 
canoe?    What  for?" 

"Oh!  he  wants  to  see  their  God's-man." 

"  What  did  he  want  here  in  your  place  ? " 

"To  see  our  God's-man." 

"Yours?"  in  a  tone  more  insulting  than  many  rough 
words. 

"Yes,  ours — high  chief  Chilkat!  You  are  slow  of  hear- 
ing, if  this  is  the  first  you  know  of  it.  We  have  a  school, 
too,  and  are  getting  the  white  men's  tongue.  The  Stick- 
eens are  a  long  step  ahead  of  the  Chilkats — for  all  you 
carry  so  many  eagles  in  your  hearts." 

"No  more  eagles  than  we've  talons  for,  let  me  tell  you," 
growls   Yealh-neddy,  with   a   threatening   gesture,   when 


142 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


he  is  opportunely  interrupted  by  one  of  the  Tsimpseans, 
who  asks: 

"  Could  you  take  one  more  to  Fort  Simpson,  think  you, 
chief?    White  man  pays  silver." 

"Let  the  white  chief  talk  with  me,"  is  the  haughty 
answer;  which  being  interpreted  by  the  south  man,  who 
speaks  a  little  English,  the  white  man  turns  in  a  friendly 
way  to  Yealh-neddy,  holding*  out  his  hand  with  a  pleas- 
ant smile. 

"  This  is  the  young  chief  from  Chilkat,  you  say  ?  I  am 
glad  to  speak  with  him." 

"But  he  much  hurry  now,  he  say,"  rejoins  the  Tsimp- 
sean,  in  his  broken  English.  "Tide  big  now— he  want 
quick  go." 

"  I'm  glad  for  that,"  the  white  man  says.  "  If  he  will 
take  me  with  him,  I  am  all  ready  to  jump  aboard." 

"  It's  good  you  see  Kah-sha,  brother  chief,  he  say." 

"Where  is  the  other  chief?" 

"In  house;  he  wait— canoe  most  run  away." 

"Tell  him  to  take  me  with  him  to  the  other  man — now" 
urges  the  white  man;  and,  not  many  minutes  after,  Kah- 
sha,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  is  brought  face  to  face 
with  one  ordained  to  preach  the  glad  tidings  of  great  joy. 

The  arrangements  are  soon  completed,  and  on  the  out- 
going tide  is  launched  the  large  canoe  with  its  burden  of 
costly  furs,  the  white  man  with  his  blankets  in  the  midst 
of  the  twelve  Chilkats  and  six  Tsimpseans. 

One  of  the  latter  has  now  taken  Kah-sha's  place  in 
steering,  being  more  familiar  with  the  passage.  Very  re- 
luctantly Kah-sha  has  taken  a  place  this  time  without  his 
paddle.  He  has  suffered  more  since  leaving  Yhin-da- 
stachy  than  he  has  been  willing  to  show,  and  the  addition 
to  their  crew  has  been  very  timely,  relieving  him  of  all 
obligation  at  the  paddle. 


JL 


AM  ALASKAN    STORY. 


143 


Seated  where  he  can  help  to  manage  the  sails,  he  is 
facing  the  missionary.  Much  and  earnestly,  though  fur- 
tively, he  studies  the  man,  and  longing  to  discover  if  he 
has  that  which  can  meet  his  own  great  need  or  satisfy  the 
hunger  of  his  soul.  Feeling  that  he  has  no  time  to  lose, 
he  is  yet  more  anxious  to  make  progress  with  certainty. 
It  is  the  concern  of  his  life;  and,  with  the  exception  of 
his  little  talk  with  Tashekah,  it  has  never  been  spoken 
of  to  any  one;  he  cannot  speak  until  he  sees  better  the 
ground  he  is  stepping  on. 

The  day  has  worn  on  without  a  favoring  breeze.  The 
dip,  dip,  dip  of  the  paddles  has  grown  as  monotonous  as 
the  hum  of  insects  on  a  sultry  summer  day.  Both  the 
white  man  and  Kah-sha  fall  under  the  soothing  spell  and 
lie  asleep  against  their  packs. 

It  is  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  rounding  of  a  cape 
brings  them  into  a  fair  wind,  and  until  their  course  is 
again  changed  two  sails  are  filled,  and  the  paddlers  lie 
back  at  ease. 

The  noise  with  which  the  change  is  made  has  awakened 
the  sleepers,  and  that  just  in  time  to  see  the  ruins  of  the 
old  Stickeen  village. 

Its  totem  poles  and  huge  corner-posts  of  ancient  dwell- 
ings arise  before  the  travellers  as  a  forest  fire-robbed  of 
life  and  beauty.  There  are  but  few  among  the  crew  wh« 
look  upon  the  scene  untouched. 

Rank  vegetation  has  sprung  up,  d->ing  its  utmost  to 
soften  the  rigid  lines  of  death,  and  native  bloom  endeav- 
ors to  be-utify  its  desolation. 

Here  and  there  protrudes  an  end  of  fallen  totems,  and 
among  the  rioting  vines  and  drooping  ferns  lie  the  over- 
thrown bones  and  ashes  of  those  who  once  kept  bright  the 
hearth-fires  of  this  deserted  village. 

Upon  the  top  of  some  of  the  corner- posts  are  still  rest- 


144 


fCIN-DA.S/WN'S    WIFE: 


ing  the  great  house-beams — some  of  them  three  feet 
through  and  forty  to  sixty  feet  long. 

"  Do  you  see  where  the  ravens  sit  croaking  on  the  house 
bones  over  there?"  asks  Kah-sha,  putting  out  his  thin 
hand  toward  the  ruins  of  a  large  building.  "  My  mother's 
father  was  at  the  feast  and  helped  to  plant  those  great 
posts  on  the  bodies  of  slaves,  let  down  first  into  the  pits 
which  they  had  dug,  for  the  strength  of  the  house.  Two 
thousand  blankets  were  given  at  that  time,  and  the  poison 
water  was  made  as  free  as  the  rivers — till  blood  and  hor- 
ror of  every  kind  seemed  like  to  destroy  the  whole  people. " 

Very  pale  is  the  face  of  Kah-sha  as  he  speaks,  and  his 
voice  is  full  of  sadness.  The  missionary  is  becoming 
deeply  interested  in  him,  and  longs,  as  do  the  Christian 
Tsimpseans,  to  be  able  to  speak  freely  in  the  language  of 
the  Chilkats,  that  they  may  tell  of  what  the  Gospel  can 
do  for  men.  Little  do  they  guess  the  longing  of  this  one 
poor  heart  to  find  the  light! 

The  Tsimpseans  know  almost  nothing  of  the  Kling-get 
tongue,  and  none  of  the  Chilkats  save  Yealh-neddy  knows 
anything  of  the  Chinook  jargon  used  among  the  traders 
with  all  the  lower-coast  tribes,  and  by  the  natives  them- 
selves among  these  southern  tribes,  as  a  means  of  commu- 
nicating with  the  people  of  other  tongues. 

The  conservative  Chilkats,  however,  have  never  yielded 
their  more  dignified  Kling-get,  and  so  it  happens  that 
Yealh-neddy,  little  as  he  has  picked  up  of  the  Chinook 
during  his  trading  trips,  has  become  an  important  link  in 
the  chain  of  communication  with  this  mixed  party. 

The  white  stranger  is  entirely  unfamiliar  with  any  of 
the  native  languages,  and  equally  so  with  the  Chinook. 
He  can  speak  only  to  the  Tsimpsean,  who  knows  a  very 
little  English.  When  what  he  understands  of  the  mission- 
ary's words  is  put  into  Chinook,  Yealh-neddy  can  turn 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


M5 


what  little  he  has  been  able  to  gather  into  Kling-get  for 
the  benefit  of  his  friends. 

The  avenue  soon  proves  too  obstructed  for  the  mission- 
ary to  impart  that  of  which  his  heart  is  full. 

Soon  after  passing  the  old  village  another  point  is 
made,  and  their  canoe  is  then  becalmed;  idly  flap  the 
sails  until  hauled  down,  and  the  men  with  a  good  will 
again  take  to  the  paddles.  As  they  do  so  the  Chilkats 
break  out  into  one  of  their  boat-songs,  giving  zest  and 
punctuation  to  their  work.  It  is  the  song  of  the  ancient 
origin  of  their  tribes,  of  their  wars  with  other  tribes  and 
among  their  own  clans;  of  how  one  triumphed  and  then 
another.  As  it  is  finished  a  good-natured  iaugh  runs 
through  their  part  of  the  crew. 

The  mountains  have  closed  in  upon  them  now;  the 
evening  is  growing  cool,  and  the  purple  light  hangs  low 
as  the  canoe  glides  through  the  shadows  of  the  great  hills. 
One  by  one  the  stars  come  twinkling  into  the  skies — the 
sky  above  and  the  sky  below;  the  song  of  the  night-bird 
comes  clear  and  sweet  from  the  woody  shores;  all  nature 
seems  at  peace.  The  dip  of  the  paddles  is  not  discordant ; 
it  comes  as  the  liquid  accompaniment,  on  which  is  soon 
borne  the  sweet  voices  of  the  Tsimpseans  in  one  of  their 
chapel-learned  hymns.  Sweet  indeed — doubly  sweet  to 
one  who  knows  the  theme: 

"  There's  a  land  that  is  fairer  than  day— 

And  by  faith  I  may  see  it  afar, 
For  the  Father  waits  over  the  way 

To  prepare  us  a  dwelling-place  there. 
In  the  sweet  by  and  by 
We  shall  meet  on  that  beautiful  shore. 

*'  To  our  bountiful  Father  above 

We  will  offer  our  tribute  of  praise, 
For  the  glorious  gift  of  His  love 

And  the  blessings  that  hallow  our  days. 
xo 


146 


KIN-DA. SffON'S    WIFE: 

In  the  sweet  by  and  by 

We  shall  meet  on  that  beautiful  shore." 


And  then  follows: 

"  Jesus,  and  shall  it  ever  be 

A  mortal  man  ashamed  of  thee  ? 
Ashamed  of  Jesus  !     Sooner  far 

Let  evening  blush  to  own  a  star. 
He  sheds  the  beams  of  light  divine 
On  this  benighted  soul  of  mine." 
And  again: 

"  The  whole  world  was  lost  in  the  darkness  of  sin — 
The  light  of  tiic  world  is  Jesus — " 

and  so  on,  through  many  lines  familiar  and  dear  to  the 
whole  Christian  world. 

Although  their  words  convey  no  meaning  to  the  minds 
of  the  Chilkats,  as  these  hymns  follow  each  other  in  ni»;.- 
ural  flowing  melody,  sung  as  they  are  with  the  spirit, 
they  bear  in  upon  the  mind  of  Kah-sha  a  quiet  and  rest 
and  hope  such  as  he  has  never  felt  before.  And  at  the 
same  time  his  longing  increases  to  know  about  the  Spirit 
he  feels  sure  they  are  singing  of. 

At  length  the  desired  camping-place  is  reached  and 
the  canoe  is  run  ashore.  After  a  supper  of  dried  salmon 
and  tea,  and  for  the  missionary  his  sea-biscuit  in  addi- 
tion, the  Christians  bow  their  heads  in  thanksgiving  and 
a  prayer  for  protection  to  the  Father  above.  Silently  and 
attentively  Kah-sha  looks  on,  wondering;  and  long  after 
the  others  are  sleeping  soundly  under  the  pines,  he  lies 
thinking. 

More  and  more  it  seems  to  him  that  his  time  to  learn 
cannot  be  long.  He  has  been  suffering  more  from  short- 
ness of  breath,  and  he  grows  continually  weaker.  At 
times  the  pain  has  been  very  bad,  and  to-night  for  a  while 
a  strange,  sinking  sensation  had  come  over  him.     Can  it 


AN  A  LA  SKA  S'    STORY. 


M7 


be,  he  thinks,  that  after  all  he  may  not  find  the  light — 
that  he  may  not  live  to  get  to  Fort  Simpson?  or,  having 
gotten  there,  shall  he  live  to  carry  the  word  to  Tashekah 
and  Kasko?  He  must  speak  to  this  white  chief — even  by 
Yealh-neddy.  He  will  ask  if  a  teacher  won't  come  to 
Chilkat  and  bring  help  to  his  people. 

But  his  desire  is  not  met  in  all  the  way  to  Fort  Simp- 
son. At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  all  hands  are  busy 
in  getting  off  again,  not  waiting  for  any  breakfast — dried 
salmon  and  hard-tack  can  be  eaten  just  as  well  in  the 
boat,  and  one  meal  a  day  suffices  for  the  natives. 

During  the  morning  they  come  to  the  mouth  of  a  shal- 
low mountain  stream,  where  the  fish  are  running.  Anchor- 
ing their  canoe  with  a  large  stone,  the  men  wade  up  the 
stream,  and  with  clubs  secure  in  a  few  minutes  several 
salmon  apiece,  weighing  about  twenty-five  pounds  each. 
Just  as  they  are  taken  the  fish  are  thrown  into  the  boat 
and  the  journey  is  resumed. 

In  the  afternoon  a  good  beach  is  found,  with  fresh 
water  and  plenty  of  drift-wood.  The  canoe  is  again 
anchored  in  shallow  water,  and  after  wading  ashore  with 
their  fish,  the  men  soon  have  a  blazing  fire  in  the  shelter 
of  a  great  rock.  The  fish  are  cleaned  and  hung  on  sticks 
to  roast. 

After  a  hearty  dinner  all  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  an 
hour's  sleep  before  getting  under  way  again. 

It  is  long  past  midnight  when  they  find  another  suitable 
place  to  land.  By  this  time  the  rain  is  pouring  down. 
Unable  to  make  a  fire,  the  men  seek  the  shelter  of  gnarled 
trees  and  rocks;  but  of  such  uncomfortable  rest  an  hour 
or  two  prove  enough,  and  they  take  to  their  canoe,  gain- 
ing warmth  from  exercise. 

For  several  days  and  nights  the  storm  continues.  The 
wind  has  been  against  them  almost  the  entire  way.     At 


148 


KIN.DA.SHON'S    WIFE: 


times  the  men  have  continued  at  their  paddles  for  twenty- 
three  consecutive  hours,  with  but  an  hour's  rest;  until  at 
last  they  find  themselves  dropping  to  sleep  with  the  pad- 
dle in  their  grasp. 

They  have  touched  at  the  native  village  of  Hydah, 
where  tae  people  have  sought  the  missionary,  asking  for 
teachers,  and  at  Tongaas  Narrows. 

Some  hours  after  leaving  the  latter  place  Cape  Fox  is 
passed,  and  the  little  bark  then  launches  boldly  out  to 
cross  a  strong  arm  of  the  sea,  once  in  the  power  of  which 
it  were  as  hard  to  go  back  as  to  go  forward. 

It  is  a  long,  weary  night.  The  darkness  and  fog  are 
heavy;  the  waves  are  rolling  high;  at  its  fiercest  they 
meet  the  stcrrn.  Standing  in  his  place  in  the  prow,  the 
Tsimpsean  '^aptain  feels  the  course  and  directs  the  pad- 
dles. Every  strong  man  is  at  his  place,  their  paddles 
moving  by  a  single  inspiration — the  measure  of  their 
leader's  solemn  song. 

Each  huge  wave  is  mounted  with  two  strokes — then  in- 
stantly, with  a  click,  the  blade  of  each  paddle  lies  mo- 
tionless against  the  side  of  the  canoe,  awaiting  the  cap- 
tain's count  for  the  next  swell,  the  frail  boat  quivering 
from  end  to  end. 

After  the  long,  hard  night  the  native  village  of  Ton- 
gaas is  sighted  by  its  forest  of  totems — rising  to  heights 
of  sixty  and  seventy  feet  and  seen  long  before  any  house 
appears  in  the  appr  ach  to  the  village.  From  top  to  bot- 
tom they  are  carved  with  images  representing  the  histo-' 
ries  and  traditions  of  their  families;  and  in  attitudes  of 
peace  or  war  may  be  seen  the  wolf,  eagle,  bear,  petrel, 
whale,  the  frog,  and  many  other  birds  and  beasts. 

The  whole  crew^  is  exhausted;  and  on  reaching  a  cove 
more  nearly  in  their  course  than  Tongaas  they  run  ashore, 
to  find  a  little  rest  and  refreshment.     All  efforts  to  build 


AH   ALASKAN   STORY. 


149 


a  fire  are  fruitless — everything  is  water-soaked,  and  the 
driving  rain  extinguishes  each  long-coaxed  flame. 

With  a  piece  of  dried  salmon  the  weary  men  take  to 
their  wet  blankets  and  lie  down  on  the  beach  to  sleep. 

After  two  hours,  the  storm  still  continuing,  travel  is 
resumed — this  time  with  the  determination  of  reaching 
Fort  Simpson  if  possible. 

Getting  out  of  cover  ot  the  island,  they  find  a  favor- 
ing wind,  before  which  both  sails  are  set,  their  corners 
dipping  into  the  sea  as  they  cut  through  the  high-run- 
ning waves.  The  masts  bend  and  creak,  but  the  sailors 
laugh.  "Beat  steamboat — beat  steamboat!  "  the  Tsimp- 
seans  cry. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the  joyful  shout  of 
'*  Fort  Simpson!  "  comes  from  those  who  know  it  best,  and 
in  a  very  short  time  all  have  found  warmth  and  welcome 
within  its  sheltering  homes.  Dry  clothing  and  cooked 
food  are  among  the  comforts  that  all  are  prepared  to  ap- 
preciate. 

"Be  not  forgetful  to  entertain  strangers,"  has  been  one 
of  the  well-learned  lessons  among  these  Christian  Tsimp- 
seans,  and  the  weary,  weather-beaten  Chilkats  are  not 
forgotten  by  their  fellow-travellers,  who  have  nov/ entered 
the  secure  haven  of  their  own  households. 

Yealh-neddy,  Kah-sha,  and  Kin-da-shon  have  been 
taken  to  the  comfortable  house  of  Samuel,  the  man 
through  whom  the  speaking  has  been  done  on  the  way 
from  Fort  Wrangel. 

Their  white  companion  has  found  as  warm  a  welcome 
with  their  missionary,  while  the  other  Chilkats  have  met 
equal  kindness  in  other  families. 

After  their  physical  comforts  have  received  attention, 
Samuel  calls  about  him  his  wife  and  children,  and,  in  the 
presence  of  their  guests,  takes  down  from  a  high  shelf  his 


150 


KIN.DA.SHON'S    WIFE: 


little  family  Bible.  Seating  himself  near  the  lighted 
candle  and  opening  the  book,  he  looks  up  into  the  face  of 
Kah-sha,  saying:  "Friend,  it  is  the  word  of  our  God. 
We  read  it  that  he  may  speak  to  us,  and  then  we  speak 
to  him." 

Yealh-neddy  is  called  to  give  these  words  as  best  he 
can  with  his  poor  Chinook,  and  in  reply  Kah-sha  answers 
in  Kling-get: 

"  I  thank  you  much  if  you  will  give  me  even  a  little  of 
his  word — my  soul  is  more  in  need  than  my  body  has  been 
this  day;  my  heart  is  more  cold,  more  hungry,  more  sick, 
more  blind  than  my  body  can  ever  be.  O  friend,  if  you 
have  medicine  for  sick  souls,  give  me  some  before  I  die! 
I  have  seen  you  talking  to  your  great  Spirit — you  have 
found  one  who  makes  you  not  afraid.  I  want  to  find  him. 
I  have  all  darkness;  I  want  light.  I  hear  you  say  one 
word  many  times,  in  gladness  and  in  fear — ^  Jesus  ' — what 
is  that?  Isxi  lighi?  Is  \tIove?  Above  all  the  boiling 
sea  of  men  and  devils,  does  it  mean  light  and  peace  and 
help  for  crying  souls?     Tell  me  what  you  know!  " 

Leaning,  with  outstretched  arm,  toward  the  simple- 
minded  man  who  has  found  Jesus  precious  to  his  soul, 
Kah-sha  is  trembling  in  his  eagerness  and  weakness. 

Little  as  Samuel  is  able  to  gather  of  meaning  from  the 
words  themselves,  it  is  yet  enough  to  give  point  to  the 
excited,  pleading  manner  of  the  man  whose  wan  face 
speaks  of  speedy  change. 

"Jesus  Christ  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners," 
Samuel  answers  him,  taking  the  trembling  hand  in  his 
own.  "  Jesus  is  the  Son  of  God — and  God  so  loved  the 
world  that  he  gave  his  only  Son  to  save  it." 

"And  can  he  save  it?"  Kah-sha  asks,  his  understanding 
quickened  by  soul-hunger.  "Can  he  save  me?  Can  he 
give  light  for  darkness  and  peace  for  war?     Can  he  beat 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


151 


down  the  spirits  of  evil  and  make  clean^  through  and 
through,  the  souls  of  men  ?  " 

"  Help  me,  Yealh-neddy — I  know  not  his  speech;  but 
help  me  to  say  this:  'The  people  that  walked  in  darkness 
have  seen  a  great  light.  They  that  dwell  in  the  land  of 
the  shadow  of  death,  upon  them  hath  the  light  shined.' 
This  light  of  the  world  is  Jesus,  and  he  will  shine  into 
his  soul.  Try  to  tell  him  what  I  say,"  Samuel  pleads,  at 
the  same  time  putting  up  a  petition  for  the  help  of  the 
Spirit,  while  Yealh-neddy  gives  a  meagre  morsel  of  this 
word  of  life. 

"Oh,  tell  me,  friend,  where  is  this  Jesus?  Let  me  see 
him.  I  will  go  to-night;  death  is  not  far  from  me.  I 
cannot  wait.  Let  me  start  to-night.  Is  he  in  this  town  ? 
Will  he  show  me  this  light  to-night?" 

Feeling  his  speech  too  feeble  to  trust  in  this  case  of 
urgent  need,  Samuel  lays  up  his  book,  saying: 

"Wait.  I  must  bring  his  messenger,"  and  out  into  the 
night  he  turns  again  to  seek  his  teacher  in  heavenly 
things. 

"  This  very  day  John  has  come  again  from  his  river 
trip.  He  speaks  Kling-get  well ;  we  will  take  him  and 
see  this  man  who  wants  Jesus,"  joyfully  responds  the  mis- 
sionary when  Samuel  has  told  his  errand;  and  leaving 
his  weary  brother-minister  to  find  rest,  he  and  the  inter- 
preter are  soon  among  the  little  group  gathered  about 
Samuel's  kitchen  fire. 

"You  want  to  know  our  God,  Kah-sha?"  the  teacher 
says.  "  He  has  known  you  a  very  long  time.  This  book 
is  his  letter  to  us,  written  long,  long  before  your  grand- 
father was  born,  and  in  it  he  speaks  of  your  people  and  to 
you.     Shall  I  read  you  what  he  says?" 

Kah-sha*s  eager  face  assents;  he  will  not  delay  the 
reading  by  so  much  as  a  word. 


15^ 


KIN-DA-SIION'S    WIFE: 


Opening  his  own  well-marked  pocket  Bible,  the  mis- 
sionary turns  readily  and  reads: 

"  '  Bring  forth  the  blind  people  that  have  eyes,  and  the 
deaf  that  have  ears — let  all  the  nations  be  gathered  to- 
gether and  let  the  people  be  assembled:  who  among  them 
can  declare  this  or  show  us  former  things?  Let  them 
brir;g  forth  their  witnesses,  that  they  may  be  justified:  (.r 
let  them  say  it  is  truth. 

"  'Ye  are  my  witnesses,  saith  the  Lord;  and  my  servant 
whom  I  have  chosen  that  ye  may  know  and  believe  me 
and  understand  that  I  am  he:  before  me  there  is  no  God 
formed,  neither  shall  there  be  after  me.  I,  even  I,  am 
the  Lo-rd;  and  beside  me  there  is  no  Saviour.  .  .  .  Jesus 
Christ  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners  ...  to  open 
the  blind  eyes,  to  bring  out  the  prisoners  from  the  prison, 
and  them  that  sit  in  darkness  out  of  the  prison  house. 
.  .  .  God  is  light  and  in  him  is  no  darkness  at  all.  .  .  . 
If  we  walk  in  the  light  as  he  is  in  the  light  we  have  fel- 
lowship one  with  another,  and  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ 
his  Son  cleanseth  us  from  all  sin.  .  .  .  For  God  so  loved 
the  world  that  he  gave  his  only-begotten  Son,  that  who- 
soever believeth  in  him  should  not  perish  but  have  ever- 
lasting life.  .  .  .  For  God  sent  not  his  Son  into  the 
world  to  condemn  the  world,  but  that  the  world  through 
him  might  be  saved.'  " 

As  one  long  perishing  with  thirst  in  a  trackless  desert 
might  lie  at  last  by  a  living  stream  and  drink,  laving 
blistered  feet  and  hot,  parched  hands,  saying,  "  Let  me  lie 
and  die  in  this  sweet  place,"  so  is  Kah-sha  as,  speech- 
lessly, almost  breathlessly,  he  drinks  in  the  words  of 
life. 

Passing  at  length  from  the  language  of  Scripture,  the 
missionary  in  simplest  words,  suited  to  the  minds  of  those 
who  hear,  and  meeting  their  unspoken  questions,  tells  the 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


153 


old,  old  story  of  the  creation  and  the  fall — of  God's  won- 
derful love  for  a  lost  world  and  his  plan  for  its  redemp- 
tion— of  the  mission  of  Christ  our  Saviour  and  the  work 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  for  all  who  will  so  much  as  lift  up  their 
eyes  to  him  who  was  lifted  up  for  us  all. 

Then  in  earnest  prayer  he  leads  Kah-sha  to  speak  to 
the  Father  and  seek  a  child's  portion  in  his  kingdom. 
With  implicit  trust  in  this  new-found  Saviour,  Kah-sha 
kneels,  and  with  tears  of  joy  and  the  calm  of  utter  peace 
he  comes  to  God  with  such  words  as  a  little  child  might 
say,  giving  himself  and  his  all  into  the  care  of  the  Great 
Love  which  careth  for    s. 

Several  hours  have  passed  before  the  missionary  goes 
to  his  own  house,  and  Samuel  and  Kah-sha  lie  down  for 
the  night.  Yealh-neddy  had  fallen  asleep  very  soon 
after  the  talk  began.  Kin-da-shon  had  followed  the  con- 
versation with  growing  interest,  but  at  last  was  overcome 
with  the  fatigue  of  the  long,  hard  journey,  and  taking 
his  well-dried  blanket  from  the  line  where  it  had  been 
hung,  lay  down  in  a  corner  and  slept  heavily.  But  in  his 
heart  a  little  seed  had  been  planted  which  was  destined 
to  live  and  bear  fruit. 

Next  day  Yealh-neddy  speaks  to  Kah-sha:  "They  say 
that  Fort  Simpson  never  was  good  for  anything  till  teach- 
ers came;  now  I  want  a  teacher  for  Chilkat.  Why  can't 
we  have  stores  and  plenty  of  silver,  just  as  they  have 
here,  and  better  than  the  Stickeens?  I'm  going  to  ask 
that  stranger  who  came  with  us  if  he  can't  send  a  teacher 
to  us.  I'd  like  to  know  their  tongue  myself.  If  I  had  it 
no  trader  would  ever  get  the  best  of  me.  I'll  make  you 
sure  of  that." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,  Yealh-neddy.  I've  wanted  to  speak 
to  the  man  myself  about  that  very  thing.  I'm  glad  you 
want   it,  too.     Our  country  will   be  better  for  all  that 


■miiiii 


154 


KIN-DA-SI/ON' S    WIFE: 


teachers  can  bring  us — if  they  bring  Jesus,  too,"  and  to- 
gether the  men  set  out  to  visit  the  missionary. 

Though  it  is  but  a  short  distance,  Kah-sha's  strength 
almost  fails  him  before  he  reaches  the  house.  After  be- 
ing admitted,  Yealh-neddy  is  the  spokesman,  and  very 
earnestly  he  makes  his  request  of  the  minister  who  had 
been  of  their  party. 

"My  people  will  leave  their  old  ways  if  a  teacher 
comes.  They  will  be  Christians  just  as  the  Fort  Simpson 
people  are  if  a  minister  comes.  Will  you  send  one  right 
away? " 

"That  I  cannot  promise,"  answers  the  missionary; 
"but  I  will  gladly  carry  your  request  and  message  to  my 
Christian  friends  in  the  East,  and  ask  that  a  teacher  be 
sent  you  as  soon  as  possible." 

"I,  too,  have  a  strong  word  to  say,  friend  chief," 
speaks  Kah-sha,  now  somewhat  recovered  from  his  short- 
ness of  breath.  "The  Chilkat  people  are  in  thick  dark- 
ness; 'ley  die  with  their  eyes  shut.  Some  souls  are 
crying  for  the  light.  O  man  of  God!  they  cannot  find 
the  way  out  unless  you  come  and  tell  them.  Tell  God's 
people  that  the  Chilkats  are  dying — that  their  children 
are  born  blind  and  cannot  find  the  way." 

"I  will  tell  them,"  is  the  promise  given  in  answer  to 
Kah-sha's  appeal;  "a  teacher  must  be  sent." 

Eager  to  hear  more  of  the  true  way,  he  remains  for  fur- 
ther talk  with  the  missionary.  Yealh-neddy  repairs  to 
the  trading  store  and  begins  his  day's  dickering  about  the 
disposal  of  his  furs,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  too  in  re- 
gard to  the  transactions  of  the  other  men  of  the  party — 
nothing  backward  in  exercising  his  newly  acquired  rights 
as  chief,  in  dictating  the  terms  of  sale,  none  daring  to 
sell  under  the  amount  which  he  proposes. 

It  is  several  days,  however,  before  the  business  of  the 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


155 


party  is  finished  and  they  are  ready  for  the  return  trip. 
Into  the  canoe  are  stowed  then,  in  exchange  for  the  furs 
they  had  brought,  shawls,  silk  handkerchiefs,  white  cot- 
ton, cotton  prints,  blankets,  several  suits  of  men's  cloth- 
ing, guns,  ammunition,  shoes,  a  little  cheap  jewelry, 
sugar,  molasses,  tea,  hard-tack,  and  tobacco,  with  some 
little  extra  purchases  not  always  reported,  among  which 
is  a  pack  of  cards  by  Yealh-neddy,  whose  passion  for 
gambling  has  led  him  to  the  discovery  of  some  of  the 
white  man's  methods. 

Kin-da-shon,  faithful  to  his  promise  to  Kasko  and  to 
his  love  for  Tashekah,  has  been  ever  at  the  side  of  Kah- 
sha  in  his  times  of  need,  and  the  affection  between  the 
two  has  warmed  and  strengthened. 

Kah-sha  has  imparted  to  the  boy  much  of  the  truth  he 
has  himself  received  from  the  missionary,  and  although 
not  fully  comprehending  it,  Kin-da-shon  has  imbibed 
enough  to  give  him  comfort  in  many  things  and  a  true 
hunger  for  further  knowledge. 

It  is  their  first  night  out  with  faces  toward  the  north 
that  Kin-da-shon,  in  a  low  voice,  asks  Kah-sha  at  their 
camping-place  to  come  aside  with  him  while  the  others 
sleep. 

Putting  his  blanket  about  the  shoulders  of  the  elder 
man,  Kin-da-shon  leads  the  way  to  a  sheltered  place,  a 
cleft  in  the  rock  where  they  may  sit  and  speak  together 
without  fear  of  being  overheard. 

Though  cool  with  the  first  hint  of  frost  the  night  is  a 
perfect  one,  and  one  never  to  be  forgotten  by  Kin-da-shon. 
He  is  feverish,  restless,  full  of  forebodings,  anxious  to 
open  his  heart  to  Kah-sha,  yet  unable  to  begin. 

All  unconscious  of  the  boy's  state  of  mind,  his  own 
heart  filled  with  new  joy  and  the  hope  of  eternal  life,  yet 
recognizing  the  daily  increasing    probability  of  his  not 


156 


KIN-DA.SHON'S    WIFE: 


reaching  Chilkat  in  the  body,  Kah-sha  eagerly  seizes  the 
opportunity  of  giving  such  messages  as  he  longs  to  have 
reach  his  children,  and  reach  them  through  this  beloved 
youth. 

"  My  son,"  he  begins,  and  from  the  very  fulness  of  his 
heart  the  words  are  unready. 

His  beginning,  however,  short  as  it  is,  followed  by  his 
silence,  gives  to  Kin-da-shon  just  the  impetus  he  has  re- 
quired. 

"'My  son,'  you  say?  O  sire,  that  is  the  strong  wish 
of  my  heart — to  be  your  son.  Your  little  Tashekah,  since 
I  was  a  little  boy,  I  have  loved  with  the  heart  of  a  man. 
May  I  be  her  husband  ?  May  I  hold  her,  and  love  her, 
and  take  care  of  her  all  my  life  ? " 

"Your  words  are  gladness  to  my  heart,  Kin-da-shon. 
There  is  none  to  whom  I  could  give  my  little  one  with 
such  joy  as  to  you.  It  was  of  Tashekah  that  I  wanted 
most  to  speak  when  I  began,  and  now  it  is  not  so  hard  to 
say.  The  child  has  some  thoughts  that  are  more  than  the 
thoughts  of  a  child,  but  whether  she  thinks  of  you  I  can- 
not tell  you,  Kin-da-shon — only  this  tell  hcr^  that  if  her 
heart  can  hold  you,  her  father  will  be  more  glad  than  for 
great  riches.  You  are  as  dear  to  me  as  a  child  of  my 
own,  and  it  comforts  me  to  think  of  Tashekah  with  you — 
when  I  am  gone.  It  can't  be  very  long.  The  good  God 
has  made  me  very  happy.  He  has  kept  my  breath  till  I 
could  hear  his  words  and  know  his  way  of  life.  O  my 
son,  if  you  should  forget  all  else,  if  you  lose  everything 
else,  hold  fast  the  words  you  have  heard  and  share  them 
with  my  other  children.  Tashekah  is  hungry  for  them 
now,  and  she  will  need  them  whether  she  has  you  or  not; 
and  Kasko  will  need  them.  I  pray  the  Good  Spirit  to 
send  a  teacher  to  our  country,  and  when  he  goes  be  sure 
to  learn  of  him  and  follow  the  way  he  shows  you.      An- 


AN  ALAS/CAN   STOJiY. 


157 


Other  thing:  I  want  you  all  to  learn  to  /r^:^  God's  word 
for  yourselves;  and,  Kin-da-shon,  tell  my  children  that 
my  way  is  very  light  and  my  heart  is  full  of  peace  and 
joy." 

Kah-sha  sinks  back  exhausted  by  his  excitement  and 
unusual  length  of  speech.  Kneeling  beside  him,  Kin-da- 
shon  chafes  the  bloodless  hands  and  speaks  tender  words. 

It  is  long  before  Kah-sha  revives  sufficiently  to  be 
helped  to  a  more  comfortable  resting-place,  and  for  the 
remainder  of  the  journey  to  Wrangel  he  attempts  no  fur- 
ther talk — indeed,  for  the  most  of  the  way  he  lies  in  his 
blankets,  too  weak  to  sit  up,  and  at  their  camping-places 
is  carried  to  and  from  the  canoe  by  the  stronger  men. 

The  fear  that  he  may  not  live  to  reach  home  is  becom- 
ing general,  and  no  one  desires  to  make  unnecessary 
delay  at  Fort  Wrangel.  Reaching  that  village  in  the 
evening,  they  simply  rest  for  a  few  hours,  and  in  the 
early  morning  are  off  with  a  good  wind  at  their  backs. 
Seventy  miles  are  made  before  they  stop  again. 

It  is  near  the  close  of  September,  and  fresh  snows  have 
already  touched  the  mountains;  and  except  just  in  the 
middle  of  such  days  as  the  sun  shines  the  air  is  keen  and 
biting. 

The  favoring  south  wind  v/hich  drives  them  nearer 
home,  filled  as  it  is  with  steam  from  the  tropic  kettle, 
strikes  these  walls  of  glacial  ice  and  snow  and  deluges  the 
country  with  rain. 

On  the  third  day  out  from  Wrangel  the  travellers  enter 
Lynn  Channel — the  long,  straight  highway  to  the  Chilkat 
country.  Hopes  are  now  felt  that  Kah-sha  may  live  to 
reach  home.  After  entering  the  channel,  however,  the 
rain  becomes  sleet,  and  their  blankets  being  wet  the  wind 
pierces  to  the  marrow  of  all. 

The  men  take  to  their  paddles  in  self-preservation  and 


158 


KIN-DA-SIION'S    WIFE: 


endeavor  to  keep  the  wind  from  Kah-sha  by  extra  cloth- 
ing. It  is  a  vain  effort;  the  cold  has  already  entered  his 
blood.  Kin-da-shon  lays  down  his  paddle  and,  under  the 
blankets,  takes  in  against  his  own  warm  breast  the  poor, 
icy  feet,  while  he  rubs  and  holds  the  hands  of  his  father- 
friend. 

Convinced  at  last  that  no  such  means  will  overcome 
the  settled  chill,  the  boy  begs  to  have  the  canoe  run 
ashore,  that  they  may  make  a  fire  and  warm  him  with  hot 
stones  and  tea. 

"No,  no,"  is  Yealb  eddy's  reply;  "he  would  only 
get  cold  the  sooner  again.  Having  such  a  wind  we  must 
go  on,  or  his  breath  will  not  last  till  we  get  there." 

"  It  will  not  last  through  this  day,  if  I  know  aught  of 
the  signs  of  death,"  insists  the  youth. 

"You  should  have  never  had  your  hair  cut,  Kin-da- 
shon;  it  rather  weakens  your  words  as  a  chief  of  spirits. 
Just  at  what  time  by  the  sun  will  his  shade  leave  us?" 
sneers  Yealh-neddy. 

Seeing  that  words  are  worse  than  useless,  Kin-da-shon 
makes  no  further  effort  to  change  the  course  of  the  party, 
but  devotes  himself  to  his  dying  friend. 

Kah-sha,  as  he  recognizes  his  condition  and  feels  the 
near  approach  of  death,  fixes  his  eyes  on  the  face  of  the 
boy  in  mute  appeal,  and  the  stiffening  lips  quiver  with  an 
attempt  to  speak ;  no  sound  is  heard  save  a  slight  gur- 
gling in  the  throat,  though  Kin-da-shon  has  bent  his  ear  to 
catch  the  faintest  utterance.  As  their  eyes  meet  again, 
those  of  Kah-sha  are  lifted  upward,  and  then,  full  of 
meaning,  they  fall  again  upon  his  faithful  friend. 

"Yes,  you  are  going;  there  is  no  night  there,"  he 
whispers  low  to  Kah-sha;  "and  I  will  come — and  Tashe- 
kah — and  Kasko.  Jesus  Christ  came  to  save  because 
God  so  loved  the  world." 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


159 


An  expression  of  unutterable  peace  shines  in  the  eyes 
of  the  man,  making  answer  to  Kin-da-slion's  words;  and 
as  they  are  raised  again  toward  the  sicy  they  become 
fixed,  as  with  great  joy. 

Silent  with  wonder  and  with  awe,  Kin-da-shon  looks  on 
until  the  light  has  faded  out,  leaving  the  sightless  balls 
still  uncovered  and  on  the  face  of  the  dead  a  look  of 
perfect  gladness.  Never  has  the  boy  seen  such  a  death 
before,  never  such  a  face  among  the  dead. 

For  a  moment  he  feels  nothing  of  grief  for  the  wonder 
of  it  all;  and  then,  like  a  black  wave,  his  own  loss  and 
the  thought  of  Tashekah's  grief  and  Kasko's  efforts  for 
his  father's  recovery — all  these  come  over  him  with  sud- 
den and  irresistible  force;  and  burying  his  head  against 
the  lifeless  heap  before  him,  hw  sobs  aloud. 


i6o 


KIN-VA-SHON' S    WIFE; 


CHAPTER   XIIL 


GAMBLING A    HEAVY    STAKE. 


'\7'EALH-NEDDY  did  not  invest  in  his  pack  of  cards 
simply  as  a  curio;  he  had  applied  himself  during 
many  a  leisure  hour  while  at  Fort  Simpson  to  learning 
the  art  of  using  them. 

Several  others  of  the  party  who  were  expert  gamblers 
in  native  games  were  also  interested  in  this  new  one,  and 
so  far  mastered  it  as  to  be  able  to  hold  their  own  against 
Yealh-neddy  so  well  at  least  as  to  render  the  game  in- 
tensely interesting  during  their  homeward  journey. 

Indeed,  every  waking  hour  not  necessarily  employed 
in  eating,  in  the  management  of  the  canoe,  or  in  keeping 
themselves  from  numbness,  was  devoted  to  this  absorbinj^- 
business — for  business  it  certainly  became,  the  stakes  be- 
ing continually  increased  until  they  involved  the  entire 
possessions  of  Yealh-neddy  and  his  chief  antagonist. 

The  excitement  is  running  high;  the  last  game  is  com- 
ing to  a  close,  when  the  sailsman  calls  that  Yhin-da-stachy 
is  sighted. 

No  attention  is  paid  to  the  announcement;  the  game 
goes  on,  and  is  finished  only  as  the  canoe  has  grounded  on 
the  sand  and  the  villagers  gather  about  to  welcome  the 
travellers  and  to  hear  the  news. 

With  loud  curses  Yealh-neddy  acknowledges  himself 
better,  and  that  to  all  his  possessions  he  has  forfeited  his 
right;  that  he  has  absolutely  nothing  to  call  his  own,  un- 
less, indeed,  his  old  wife  and  his  witch  slave  might  be 
called  his. 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY, 


i6i 


He  is  desperate;  he  will  not  stop  here.  Never  has  he 
had  such  luck;  it  must  be  the  vile  white  man's  cards; 
without  doubt  he  would  have  been  the  winner  had  they 
used  the  native  sticks. 

"I  challenge  you,"  he  cries,  in  a  rage,  to  his  victorious 
opponent — "I  challenge  you  to  one  last  play,  with  our 
own  gaming-sticks.  You  have  left  me  nothing.  I  will 
put  up  against  all  that  you  have  taken  from  me  and  all 
that  you  possess — I  put  against  it — myself!  I  will  make 
you  a  beggar  or  I  will  be  your  slave!  " 

"It  is  done,  my  chief  Yealh-neddy;  it  is  the  last  time 
you  shall  hear  that  title — you  are  my  slave! " 

"The  ravens  take  your  tongue!  Let  us  to  the  grass 
and  decide  that  matter," 

No  time  is  thrown  away  on  salutations  to  friends,  in 
speaking  of  the  death  of  Kah-sha,  or  assisting  in  the  re- 
moval of  the  body  to  one  of  the  houses  from  the  canoe. 
Nor  do  the  gamblers  go  to  any  remote  place  of  quiet. 
The  gambling-sticks  are  made  of  the  wild  apple-wood, 
and  number  from  seventy  to  a  hundred  in  a  set.  Each 
stick  bears  a  name  and  is  easily  recognized  by  the  initi- 
ated. Yealh-neddy's  set,  in  a  leathern  case,  is  slung 
across  his  shoulder  as  he  springs  fron;  the  boat.  Only  a 
few  steps  from  the  place  of  their  landing,  in  the  high, 
rush-like  grass  which  borders  the  beach,  the  players  tramp 
down  a  ring  and  di  ade  between  them  the  beautifully  pol- 
ished sticks. 

In  positions  facing  each  other  the  men  lie  at  full 
length,  with  elbows  resting  on  the  ground,  while  under 
the  loose  trodden  grass  before  them  their  "hands"  are 
kept  concealed,  two  or  three  paces  being  left  between  the 
players. 

Knowing  the  temper  of  Yealh-neddy,  his  antagonist 
has  insisted  on  their  each  choosing  three  witnesses,  and 
II 


l63 


A'lX.DA.SIIOX'S    WIFE: 


these  men  are  seated,  three  on  each  side,  between  the  op- 
ponents, thus  forming  a  circle. 

Meanwhile  the  news  of  Kah-sha's  death  has  flashed 
through  the  village  and  brought  to  the  beach  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  who  has  been  able  to  move.  The  sound 
of  mourning  is  already  heard. 

Grannie  had  so  timed  her  visit  as  to  be  in  Vhin-da- 
stachy  when  the  traders  were  expected  to  return.  Greatly 
pleased  at  the  .settlement  of  Tashekah  as  Ka-kee*s  wife, 
she  had,  as  the  chief  representative  of  her  family,  made 
every  arrangement  as  to  terms,  and  awaited  only  the 
formal  acquiescence  of  Kah-sha. 

Already  through  all  the  villages  it  has  been  received 
as  a  fact  that  Tashekah  has  been  given  as  wife  to  Ka-kee, 
and  she  herself  has  settled  down  to  an  acceptance  of  her 
fate,  though  not  without  inward  struggles  and  a  half-un- 
derstood pain  of  heart. 

She  had  thought — but  no ;  what  had  she  thought  ?  It 
was  her  father — he  had  thought  that  Kin-da-shon — had  he 
changed  his  mind?  She  had  been  sorry  to  hear  her  father 
speak  of  giving  her  to  any  one;  and  yet — Kin-da-shon 
was  good  and  gentle,  and  she  had  liked  to  think  that  he 
and  Kasko  would  always  take  care  of  her.  Having  seen 
more  of  her  now,  did  Kin-da-shon  think  he  couldn't  love 
her  any  more?  Was  that  the  reason  her  father  had  given 
her  to  Ka-kee?  Oh,  if  he  could  only  have  known  how  the 
sight  of  the  man  caused  her  body  to  shake  and  her  heart 
to  stand  still! 

Had  he  been  afraid  that  he  would  not  live  to  come 
back — and  did  he  do  this  to  give  her  a  home?  Had  he 
found  that  Kin-da-shon  gave  her  no  thought,  and  so  had 
he  tried  to  save  her  shame  by  this  arrangement? 

Well,  she  would  try  to  bear  it;  there  must  have  been 
some  good  reason,  or  her  father  would  never  have  done  it. 


AlV   ALASk'AN    STORY. 


163 


Still,  hard-dying  hope  sometimes  whispered  that  the 
father's  coming  might  change  it  all  yet.  She  would  let 
him  know  her  heart — that  since  she  had  seen  Kin-da-shon 
so  much  with  Kasko  she  did  not  fear  him,  and  since 
Kasko  has  gone  she  will  be  very  lonely.  No  one  can 
half  so  well  take  iiis  place  as  his  dearest  friend.  Dear 
Kasko!  no  one  can  take  his  place  or  be  just  like  him; 
and  yet  Kin-da-shon  is  more  tall — and,  yes,  more  gentle; 
and  if  he  wanted  her,  as  her  father  thought  he  did,  she 
would  not  he  unhappy. 

So  Tashekah  had  thought,  after  learning  from  Ka-kee*s 
wife  what  they  expected  of  her.  So  she  had  thought  until 
after  grannie's  coming,  when  things  seemed  to  be  so  set- 
tled that  there  was  little  room  to  hope  for  any  change. 

She  could  not  open  her  heart  to  grannie,  and  if  she 
could  it  were  little  comfort  she  would  get.  Grannie  be- 
lieved in  making  hearts  fit  the  circumstances.  And  then, 
if  Kin-da-shon  had  not  cared  for  her,  after  all?  No,  she 
could  do  nothing  but  wait  and  see  if  her  father  could  at 
all  help  her. 

And  now  that  waiting  is  over — the  blow  has  fallen — 
Tashekah  is  fatherless.  She  had  been  sitting  within 
doors,  trying  to  amuse  the  slowly  recovering  Ch-one, 
when  the  word  reached  the  house.  She  hears  it  as  one  in 
a  dream;  she  slowly  lays  down  the  pebbh,'s  from  her  lap, 
where  the  little  thin  hands  of  the  sick  boy  has  dropped 
them  one  by  one,  rises  to  her  feet,  and,  without  exclama- 
tion of  any  kind,  walks  deliberately  out  of  the  house  and 
down  toward  the  canoe.  The  excitement,  the  cries  of  the 
people,  the  gambling  party  which  she  passes,  are  all  alike 
unheeded.  She  sees  only  the  canoe  and  the  men  who  are 
removing  from  it  their  packs.  Eagerly  she  scans  every 
man,  every  pack;  then  the  bed  of  the  boat  itself. 

The  men  are  coming  down  again  from  the  houses;  the 


1 64 


KIN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


packs  have  all  been  carried  in  now  except  one  of  rinusual 
size  and  shape  down  in  the  middle  part  of  the  canoe. 

She  approaches  the  side  of  the  boat  and  lays  a  hand  on 
its  edge.  They  are  raising  this  strange  burden  now. 
With  care  it  is  passed  over  into  other  waiting  hands. 

Moved  mechanically  by  some  unthinking  sense,  she 
comes  to  its  side  and  walks  with  its  bearers.  They  reach 
a  vacant  house ;  the  door  stands  open  and  through  it  the 
little  company  passes.  At  the  farther  side  of  the  room 
they  lay  it  down — this  something.  Not  a  word  is  spoken, 
but  there  is  louder  crying  at  the  door  as  the  people  follow 
in.  She  touches  the  blankets;  she  kneels  beside  tb  r^ 
and  draws  away  the  folded  coverings.  There  are  th:.^< 
who  would  restrain  her,  but  Ka-kee  is  at  her  side. 

"  Let  her  alone,"  is  his  stern  command. 

She  has  found  now  the  still,  cold  face,  and  gazes  upon 
it  without  a  sign  of  emotion.  She  herself  is  unconscious 
of  any  grief,  of  any  feeling;  it  is  asthoug'^  her  own  '^eart 
had  ceased  to  be     —had  turned  to  stone. 

But,  unconsciously,  her  mind  is  receiving  the  image  of 
her  father's  face,  so  that  by  and  by,  when  kindly  Nature 
has  passed  it  through  her  "  dark-room  "  developers,  that 
tender  face,  with  all  its  new  expression  of  peace  and  joy, 
will  stand  out  clear  and  true,  comforting  its  possessor. 

Kin-da-shon,  longing  to  help  her,  is  yet  prevented  from 
making  any  sign.  Already  it  has  come  to  his  ears  that 
Tashekah  is  the  wife,  by  her  grandmother's  giving,  of  Ka- 
kee;  and  over  her  the  medicine-man  is  already  showing 
more  of  the  master's  authority  than  before  the  return  of 
the  traders  with  the  body  of  her  father. 

*' He  gave  me  a  message  for  you,  Tashekah,"  begins 
Kin-da-shon,  with  great  effort.  "You  might  like  to  hear 
it  with  only  your  one  pair  of  ears." 

Slowly  and  steadily  her  eyes  are  lifted  to  the  face  of 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


l6: 


the  speaker  in  a  half-vacant  stare.  There  is  no  effort  to 
withdraw  them,  no  attempt  at  speech;  but  gradually  there 
steals  through  her  frame  a  slight  tremor — a  hint  of  life. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  boy, "  angrily  cries  Ka-kee.  "  Hold 
your  tongue  and  let  the  girl  alone,  or  you  may  wish  you 
had." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  girl  shudders  and  buries 
her  face  against  the  lifeless  form  of  her  father.  Seizing 
her  by  the  arms,  Ka-kee  brings  her  to  her  feet  and  bids 
her  go  to  his  house. 

For  the  first  time  she  turns  on  him,  with  a  glare  not 
unlike  his  own;  and  shaking  off  his  loosened  grasp,  she 
starts  toward  the  door.  When  half-way  across  the  room 
she  begins  to  sway,  to  stagger  as  one  drunken. 

Too  angry  to  follow  her,  Ka-kee  stands  in  his  place, 
while,  springing  past  him,  Kin-da-shon  prevents  her  strik- 
ing the  floor  in  her  fall. 

Seeing  that  consciousness  has  gone,  without  a  word  he 
gathers  her  into  his  arms,  and  through  the  astonished 
crowd  bears  her  swiftly  to  the  house  of  Ka-kee. 

"  Make  a  place  for  her,  Sa-allie,"  he  says  to  the  mother 
with  her  child;  "her  spirit  is  asleep." 

Tenderly  he  lays  her  down,  longing  to  hold  her  ever, 
and  with  a  heart  sick  and  hungering  he  turns  to  go. 

"  You  are  sick,  Kin-da-shon.  Wait  and  let  me  give  you 
food,"  kindly  speaks  Sa-allie,  struck  with  the  boy's  hag- 
gard face. 

"  I  could  not  eat.  You  are  good  to  me,  but  my  heart 
takes  all  my  stomach's  room;  there  is  no  place  for  food." 

"Rest,  then.     Here  is  a  blanket." 

"I  could  find  no  rest  in  a  blanket,  friend.  I  must  go 
to  my  father's  place."  A  sneer  from  the  medicine-man 
answered  him. 

"  That   is  best.     It  is  a  good  time  to  turn  your  face 


1 66 


KIN-DA-SIION'S    WIFE: 


toward  your  mother.  But  what  is  that  message,  now, 
that  you  had  from  Kah-sha?  You  need  not  hope  to  hide 
it  from  the  medicine-spirit.     Out  with  it!  " 

Ka-kec  had  entered  in  time  to  hear  the  latter  part  of 
Kin-da-shon's  reply  to  Sa-allie. 

"I  have  no  love  for  hiding  things,  Ka-kee,"  the  boy 
answers,  with  gentle  dignity.  "It  is  as  well  that  ^w^ 
should  tell  her,  when  she  wakes.  Her  father  found  the 
medicine  he  searched  for;  his  spirit  found  a  great  light 
before  it  left  the  body.  'Tell  Tashekah,'  he  said,  'that  I 
have  found  the  (lod  who  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave 
the  dearest  thing  he  had — his  only  son — to  save  it.  When 
there  was  no  eye  to  cry  or  heart  to  be  sorry,  he  put  his 
arm  around  men  to  love  them  and  to  take  the  bad  and  the 
soul-sickness  out  of  them.'  And  Kah-sha  thought  his 
spirit  was  going  to  live  with  that  God — and  he  wants  Ta- 
shekah to  come." 

With  a  face  almost  as  death-like  as  Kah-sha's  own,  Kin- 
da-shon  leaves  the  house.  Approaching  his  pack,  he  makes 
an  effort  to  rise  with  it.  Finding  this  impossible,  he 
opens  it,  and  taking  out  the  little  trinkets  which  he  had 
brought  for  Tashekah  and  his  mother  and  sisters,  he  puts 
them  into  his  "gualh,"  or  neck-bag;  and  then,  after  en- 
gaging that  his  pack  be  sent  by  canoe  to  Klok-won,  he 
takes  his  new  musket  in  hand  and  starts  out  for  his 
father's  village,  on  foot  and  alone,  unable  to  remain 
longer  in  this  sad  place. 

Kin-da-shon  has  not  yet  reached  the  end  of  the  village 
when  his  steps  are  arrested  by  a  series  of  excited  yells. 
Turning  to  look  back,  he  sees  a  great  crowd  gathering 
about  the  gamblers,  though  people  seem  to  be  coming  as 
well  as  going. 

True  to  the  native  instinct,  he  retraces  his  steps  to 
learn  the  cause  of  this  new  commotion.     As  he  approaches 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


167 


the  crowd  he  finds  himself  side  by  side  with  Kah-da-guah, 
the  old  wife  of  Yealh-neddy,  who  is  speaking  excitedly 
and  gesticulating  wildly. 

'' Lost^  hashe?  Well,  it'sthefirst  time,  without  doubt," 
she  has  been  saying. 

"Yes,  list — Yealh-neddy  has — this  time  for  sure,"  one 
of  the  villagers  rejoins,  while  another  puts  in: 

"The  fine  'King-George's-country '  shawl  you  bade 
him  get  you  is  gone,  and  your  dress  and  silk  handker- 
chief  " 

"And  the  tobarro  and  molasses  and  everything  he 
traded  for,"  tiamors  another. 

"That's  nothing!  its  all  he  had  at  home  before  he 
started,  as  well;  and,  what's  more,  he's  gone  himself  now. 
You  have  a  slave  for  a  husband,  Kah-da-guah!  " 

"What's  that  you  say,  fox?"  Kah-da-guah  asks  with 
venom. 

"  I'm  saying  what  I  know,  that's  all.  Yealh-neddy 
will  get  a  little  of  his  bite  taken  out,  I'm  thinking,  when 
he  has  to  bring  wood  for  another  m.in's  fire." 

By  this  time  the  woman  has  pushed  through  the  crowd 
and  stands  before  her  husband. 

"So  you  are  lost,  are  you,  Yealh-neddy?"  she  asks, 
with  just  a  touch  of  triumph  in  her  tone.  He  turns  away 
in  sullen  contempt. 

"  You  had  rather  go  with  your  goods  than  have  them  go 
without  you,  maybe?"     Still  no  answer. 

"Why  didn't  you  stake  your  wife,  too?  It's  a  pity  to 
break  the  family." 

More  angry  than  he  dares  to  show,  Yealh-neddy  main- 
tains  his  dogged  silence. 

Turning  then  to  the  winner  of  the  game,  she  con- 
tinues: 

'*  What  is  a  slave  chief  t*.'ortk  t     Meh!  what  will  you  sell 


i68 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


him  for?"     A  wicked  light  gleams  in  Yealh-neddy's  eye, 
but,  undisturbed,  his  master  answers  Kah-da-guah: 

"Would  you  like  to  own  him  yourself,  woman?" 

"Maybe  I  would;  maybe  he  is  not  worth  your  price. 
Let  me  hear." 

"  I  own  a  hundred  blankets,  and  what  I  got  from  him 
was  worth  as  much  more.  He  put  his  own  value  against 
that,  and  I  am  willing  to  pass  him  on  at  the  same  price." 

"Two  hundred  blankets!  It  were  a  dirty  thing  to  say 
a  chief  is  not  worth  that,  but  it's  a  good  deal  for  a  slave. 
What  do  you  say,  Yealh-neddy?  Two  hundred  blankets 
is  a  good  deal  to  give,  but  I've  got  enough  to  pay  it. 
What  do  you  say  ? " 

"Say  what  you  like,"  growls  Yealh-neddy;  "but  don't 
be  at  it  all  winter." 

"  Good !  There  are  not  many  words  to  say.  You 
meant  to  make  me  or  my  tribe  pay  for  Kotch-kul-ah's 
loss.  Where  she  is  I  know  nothing  more  about  than  you  do 
yourself.  If  I  pay  this  iox you,  you  shall  promise  first  in 
the  ears  of  this  people  that  you  will  never  bring  this  mat- 
ter ap  against  us." 

A  contemptuous  grunt  and  a  shrugging  of  the  shoulders 
is  Yealh-neddy's  only  answer. 

"  Don't  be  all  winter  about  saying  what  >•<?«  have  to  say 
to  this,  Yealh-n*;ddy ;  my  berries  are  calling  for  their  oil, 
and  I  must  go  and  fix  them,"  speaks  Kah-da-guah,  rising 
to  the  occasion  and  fee'ing  quite  equal  to  the  matter  in 
hand. 

"You  must  think  Yealh-neddy  a  fool  if  you  suppose 
he  would  give  himself  for  that  white-faced  woman.  Bring 
your  blankets  out  and  let  this  buzzard  go." 

"Yes:  but  my  haste  is  not  too  great  to  wait  for  your 
promise  before  these  people;  it  ;;/tf^  take  all  winter  for 
that,  and  I  must  fix  my  berries  first." 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


169 


"You  woman  fool!  What  would  you  hear?  Your 
daughter  is  a  faded  bearskin;  she's  worth  nothing  to  me. 
I  shall  never  trouble  myself  to  ask  you  or  your  tribe  for 
so  much  as  a  rabbit-skin — it  would  be  a  cheat.  Do  you 
want  to  hear  more?  If  you  were  to  find  the  vile  baggage 
and  give  me  five  hundred  blankets  to  take  her  back  I 
should  spit  in  your  faces,"  blazes  Yealh-neddy  in  his 
wrath. 

**  Men  of  our  two  tribes,  you  are  witnesses  to  his  words. 
Witness  now  that  I  take  both  promises,  and  that  his 
master  gets  from  my  stores  the  two  hundred  blankets  that 
make  Yealh-neddy  free." 

So  saying,  Kah-da-guab.  without  further  parley,  calls 
to  a  serving-man  to  asski.  her  in  getting  out  the  required 
number  of  blankets. 

Having  witnesix  ;-^  this  transaction  also,  Kin-da-shon 
turns  and,  retracing  hii  way  through  the  village,  resumes 
his  journey. 


170 


KJN-DA'SJION'S    WIFE: 


CHAPTER    XIV. 


USHA-SHAWET,    KOTCH-KUL-AH,    AND    KIN-DA-SHON. 


TN  escaping  from  Yhin-da-stachy  Kotch-kul-ah  was 
guided  by  the  experience  and  natural  sagacity  of  her 
companion.  For  many  years  Usha  had  been  accustomed 
to  moving  about  the  country  as  a  trusted  slave,  getting  in 
supplies  of  berries  and  such  herbs  and  barks  as  were  con- 
stantly in  requisition  for  medicinal  purposes,  for  tanning 
and  for  coloring  the  grasses  also  and  the  bark-lining 
needed  for  basket-making.  Knowing  the  country  so  well, 
and  being  versed  in  the  art  of  //VvV/j;  under  such  condi- 
tions as  attended  independent  out-door  life,  she  was  well 
able  to  direct  their  course  to  a  place  of  hiding  which 
would  be  both  secure  and  comfortable,  at  least  for  a  time. 

Crossing  the  wide  channel  at  once,  they  followed  the 
shore  north  for  some  distance,  until,  striking  a  small  sand- 
bank, which  even  the  high  tides  did  not  always  cover 
and  which  now  lay  quite  exposed,  they  disembarked. 

Making  a  small  pack  for  Kotch-kul-ah,  including  only 
her  own  blanket  and  the  paddles,  with  a  small  bundle  of 
dried  fish,  Usha  gathered  what  remained  of  their  baggage 
into  a  large  and  compact  bundle  and  hid  it  in  the  heavy 
undergrowth  on  the  shore. 

Then  taking  up  the  canoe,  overturned  on  her  head  and 
shoulders,  herself  scarcely  visible  as  she  moved  along,  she 
led  the  way  over  the  hard,  smooth  sand.  After  a  long  tramp 
they  came  to  a  softly  flowing  mountain  stream  which  had 
no  visible  outlet — its  waters  sinking  into  the  gravelly 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


171 


shore  and  disappearing  altogether  far  above  the  bed  of 
the  river. 

Hiding  the  canoe  in  the  bushes  and  finding  a  comfort- 
able retreat  for  themselves,  they  rested  and  ate  their  fish. 
After  such  refreshment  Usha  went  back  for  her  pack,  and 
with  it  safely  returned  to  Kotch-kul-ah  and  led  the  way 
up  along  the  course  of  the  stream,  till,  about  half-way  to 
the  mountain's  top,  they  came  to  a  l(;vely  little  lake, 
where  the  spotted  trout  were  leaping  in  the  sunlight  like 
truant  beams  of  stronger  growth. 

Here,  on  the  lake's  sweetly  wooded  shore,  these  home- 
less women  found  rest  and  peace  and  strength  as  full  as 
the  natural  world  can  give  it. 

To  this  spot  Usha  brought  the  canoe,  and  during  their 
sun  mer's  tarrying  much  improved  it  by  sewing  up  its 
cracks  with  twine  of  bark,  lining  and  stuffing  them  with 
fine  miss  and  melted  gum.  They  repaired  the  booth  of 
hemlock  boughs  which  Usha  had  made  and  used  long  be- 
fore, and  within  they  made  them  fresh  beds  of  the  same 
fragrant  material. 

For  Kotch-kul-ah  it  was  precisely  the  sort  of  life  need- 
ed for  the  counteracting  of  s^uch  pestilential  poisons  as 
her  two-years'  confinement  had  engendered.  When,  after 
three  months,  Usha  brought  her  out  again  to  seek  a  win- 
ter dwelling-place  among  the  sheltering  rocks  of  the  east- 
ern shore,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  recognize  the  high 
class  of  the  girl  by  her  complexion.  All  the  angles  of 
face  and  figure  had  disappeared,  charming  curves  of  girl- 
ish beauty  had  taken  their  place.  The  contracted  chest 
and  stooping  shoulders  were  transformed;  the  step  was 
elastic  and  free  as  a  deer's;  the  eyes  were  full  and  bright 
and  the  comple.xion  dark  and  ruddy. 

Thro'j^h  the  summer  both  women  had  found  plenty  of 
employment  in  taking  fish  and  drying  them  ,   in  entrapping 


172 


A'IN'DA-SJION'S    WIFE: 


fowl  and  even  sheep,  which  furnished  them  with  both 
food  and  bedding;  berries  were  gathered,  boiled,  mashed, 
and  pressed  into  cakes,  looking  likedarkly  cured  tobacco, 
then  dried  in  an  earth-oven.* 

Neither  did  Usha  forget  her  healing  herbs;  so  that 
when  they  were  ready  to  go,  the  stowing  of  such  generous 
supplies  became  a  serious  matter,  though  finally  arranged 
with  satisfaction. 

Already,  further  up  the  mountain,  light  snows  had 
fallen  warningly  before  Usha  said:  "We  must  go." 

Having  gotten  their  goods  to  the  beach,  the  women 
waited  and  watched  the  river  until  daylight  began  to 
fade;  then,  being  assured  that  no  boat  had  ascended  the 
channel  during  the  afternoon,  they  cautiously  began  their 
own  voyage,  this  time  with  very  different  feelings  from 
those  with  which  they  had  left  Yhin-da-stachy. 

And  yet,  as  Kotch-kul-ah  found  herself  once  more  in 
the  world,  as  it  were,  thoughts  came,  and  old-time  feel- 
ings revived,  and  longings  grew,  until  she  was  almost 
ready  to  risk  a  return  to  her  own  people. 

**We  must  have  great  care,"  Usha  had  said  in  starting. 
"The  berry-picking  is  all  done,  but  hunters  may  be  going 
out,  and  it  is  near  the  time  when  the  Fort  Simpson  trad- 
ers ought  to  be  back,  and  some  of  them  will  be  going  to 
the  upper  villages.     We  must  not  cross  their  path." 

These  woi  !s  and  the  getting  out  into  familiar  scenes 
again  had  been  the  gentle  stirrings  which  roused  anew 
her  regard  for  Kin-da-shon. 

"Yes,"  she  thought,  "  it  is  time  they  were  coming.     If 

♦  An  cartli-ovcn  is  a  large  hole,  say  three  or  four  feet  square  and  almost  as  deep,  dug 
ill  the  ground  and  lined  with  flat  stones.  Fire  is  then  made  in  it  and  kept  burning 
until  the  walls  are  thoroughly  heated,  when  layers  of  large  leaves  are  placed  within  it 
and  on  these  are  placed  the  little  rush  racks  or  frames  on  which  the  berry  cakes  have  been 
shaped;  over  these  more  leaves,  and  above  all  fresh  earth  is  heaped  that  the  heat  may  be 
retained.  After  being  cured  in  this  way  the  berries  are  ready  to  be  eaten,  either  as 
they  are  or  stewed.    By  this  process  fruit  is  easily  preserved  as  a  winter  supply. 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


173 


we  should  cross  their  path — what  then?"  And  with  this 
question  played  her  dreams,  waking  or  sleeping. 

Their  destination  was  that  night  reached,  however, 
without  discovery  by  a  human  being.  HaT  the  distance 
to  Kutwulhtoo  was  made  before  they  ventured  to  cross 
the  river  shallows  to  the  island  which  hemmed  in  the 
swiftly  flowing  narrows. 

The  night  was  far  spent,  but  the  moon  was  old  and  late, 
and  by  its  waning  light  they  found  a  small  break  in  the 
island  wall,  through  which  they  passed.  Down  the  stream 
several  yards  the  canoe  was  current-borne  before  it  was 
possible  to  touch  the  opposite  shore.  When  they  did 
reach  it,  Usha,  with  a  small  coil  of  rope  in  hand,  an  end 
of  which  had  been  made  fast  to  the  boat,  sprang  nimbly 
to  the  bank  and  drew  the  rope  about  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 
In  this  way  it  was  secured  until  Kotch-kul-ah  and  the 
cargo  were  landed. 

Here  Usha's  experience  again  served.  No  time  was 
spent  in  searching  for  a  dwelling-place.  Usha  knew  the 
very  spot — had  known  it  these  many  years,  without  so 
much  as  hinting  its  existence  to  any  living  soul — a  place 
she  had  discovered  in  one  of  her  long  rambles,  and  she 
believed  herself  alone  in  the  discovery. 

Only  a  few  rods  from  the  river  course,  along  which  runs 
the  trail  from  Yhin-da-stachy  to  the  upper  villages,  the 
mountains  stand  in  a  high,  barren  wall;  here  and  there 
abundant  wood-growth  and  tangled  vines  hide  these  for- 
tresses from  the  trail,  and  it  was  in  a  well-concealed  and 
unusual  break  in  their  rocky  face,  its  approach  tntirely 
covered  from  the  passer-by,  that  Usha  soon  placec  their 
wcrldly  wealth  and  began  to  make  the  place  habitable. 

Her  suspicions  that  it  might  be  the  winter  retreat  of  a 
bear  were  now  upon  examination  confirmed;  and  while 
the  fact  strengthened  her  opinion  of  it  as  a  place  of  com- 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WFBSTER.N.Y.  14580 

716)  872-4503 


74 


KIN-DA-SIION'S    WIFE. 


fort,  it  gave  her  a  little  uneasiness  as  to  their  present 
safety,  since  signs  of  winter  were  growing  sharp.  She 
could  make  a  trap  which  would  settle  the  question  of  pro- 
prietorship if  the  bear  should  fall  into  it  before  falling 
on  them.  At  any  rate,  they  could  do  no  better  than  take 
possession,  and  to-morrow  she  would  get  the  trap  ready. 

After  so  many  hours  of  hard  work  such  anxiety  had  no 
effect  in  preventing  sleep.  Both  Usha  and  Kotch-kul-ah 
slept  heavily  for  many  hours.  It  was  near  sunset  of  their 
first  day  in  the  cave  when  Kotch-kul-ah  awoke  from  a 
dream  of  rustling  leaves,  and  under  a  strong  impression 
that  some  one  was  near  them. 

Creeping  out  of  the  cave  and  through  its  winding  rocky 
entrance,  she  very  cautiously  approached  an  opening 
through  rocks  and  undergrowth,  whence  she  peered  out. 

Some  moments  passed  before  she  was  able  to  discover 
the  cause  of  the  sound,  if  sound  she  had  heard;  but,  wait- 
inp-  with  eyes  fixed  on  a  point  where  the  trail  was  visible, 
there  presently  appeared,  as  from  the  river,  a  shaggy  cin- 
namon bear.  Filled  with  fear,  she  was  about  to  rouse 
Usha,  when,  with  a  snorting  growl,  the  great  creature 
raised  himself  to  his  hind  feet  and  advanced  along  the 
path  until  the  bushes  hid  him  from  sight. 

Glancing  along  in  the  effort  to  obtain  a  lower  view  of 
the  trail,  Kotch-kul-ah  was  struck  with  horror  at  sight  of 
a  single  traveller,  with  face  toward  the  north,  and  as  yet 
entirely  unconscious  of  the  bear's  approach.  A  moment 
later  she  recognized  Kin-da-shon,  who  at  the  same  instant 
started  back  in  surprise  and  drew  his  knife  at  his  suddenly 
discovered  enemy. 

The  bear  stood  before  him,  face  to  face.  The  new  Fort 
Simpson  musket  was  of  no  value  in  such  an  encounter, 
though  loaded  ready  for  use.  No  right-minded  Kling-get 
ever  stooped  to  take  such  advantage  of  a  bear. 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY, 


175 


Kin-da-shon  had  quickly  dropped  his  gun  to  the  ground 
and  grasped  his  ready  knife  for  a  hand-to-hand  battle — 
a  very  unequal  contest  at  a  man's  best,  but  in  Kin-da- 
shon's  exhausted  condition  defeat  and  a  horrible  death 
were  almost  certain, 

Kotch-kul-ah,  not  knowing  what  to  do  and  hardly  con- 
scious of  doing  anything,  yet  did  the  best  thing  which 
under  the  circumstances  could  have  been  done — she 
shrieked  and  screamed  with  all  her  new  lung  power. 

Usha,  startled  out  of  her  sleep,  was  a  moment  or  two 
in  comprehending  the  situation;  then  her  voice  in  its 
shrillest  tones  was  added  to  Kotch-kul-ah's,  and  at  the 
same  time  down  among  the  bushes  near  the  trail  she  flung 
such  sticks  and  stones  as  were  at  hand. 

The  coward  bear,  afraid  of  what  he  could  not  see, 
dropped  to  all  fours  and  rapidly  disappeared  along  the 
lower  trail,  though  Kin-da-shon  had  fallen  under  him  and 
lay  as  one  dead — silent  and  blanched  were  the  lips  and 
not  a  tremor  stirred  even  the  eyelids. 

Unmindful  of  their  own  insecurity,  the  women  run  down 
and  kneel  beside  him. 

"He  is  dead!  he  is  dead!  and  all  my  heart  dies  with 
him!"  Kotch-kul-ah  cries,  burying  her  face  against  the 
unconscious  object  of  her  love.  To  Usha  it  is  a  revela- 
tion; she  is  not  slow  to  understand,  and  to  her  it  seems 
almost  wiser  to  let  him  die.  Kotch-kul-ah's  unrestrained 
grief  and  cries  of  despair  appeal  too  strongly  to  her  wom- 
an's heart,  however,  and,  regardless  of  consequences,  she 
reassures  the  girl. 

"He  is  not  dead,  Kotch-kul-ah.  His  heart  is  tired; 
his  stomach  is  empty.  But  see!  his  face  is  untorn  and  his 
head  is  unhurt,  and  the  blood  is  flowing  only  from  his  left 
shoulder." 

Examining  further,  she  discovers  a  dislocation  of  the 


176 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


right  shoulder,  caused  by  the  disarming  stroke  of  the  huge 
paw.  Off  at  a  little  distance  they  find  the  knife,  wet  with 
blood  to  its  hilt.  Evidently  it  had  been  raised  for  a  sec- 
ond stab  when  the  bear  struck  down  his  arm,  at  the  same 
time  driving  his  fierce  claws  into  the  other  shoulder  when 
the  outcry  of  the  women  frightened  him  away,  thus  pre- 
venting the  further  mutilation  and  death  of  the  defence- 
less victim. 

"He  is  not  dead,  Kotch-kul-ah;  but  you  must  help  me 
or  he  will  be.  Let  us  carry  him  to  the  cave,  where  I  can 
tend  his  hurts." 

Roused  to  action  by  such  hope,  Kotch-kul-ah's  strength 
is  equal  to  Usha's;  and  rolling  him  into  his  own 
blanket,  they  thus  bear  him  up  and  into  their  hiding- 
place. 

Usha's  skill  is  quite  sufficient  to  determine  the  extent 
of  the  boy's  injuries  and,  with  Kotch-kul-ah's  assistance, 
to  replace  the  disjointed  shoulder.  This  is  done  before 
any  effort  is  made  to  restore  consciousness,  though  Kotch- 
kul-ah  pleads  anxiously. 

"  The  pulling  won't  hurt  him  now,  while  he  knows  noth- 
ing and  the  threads  are  all  loose.  They  will  be  tight 
and  hard  when  he  wakes,"  the  woman  answers,  as  she  pro- 
ceeds according  to  her  own  judgment. 

This  first  task  finished,  she  gives  Kotch-kul-ah  water 
with  which  to  bathe  his  face,  while  she  busies  herself  with 
making  dried-mutton  broth,  having  heated  the  stones  by 
burning  oil  on  them — since  the  smoke  of  a  wood  fire 
might  betray  them  to  any  one  passing  on  the  trail  below. 
The  broth  for  the  weak  stomach,  and  some  cooling,  cleans- 
ing decoction  of  herbs  with  bruised  leaves  for  the  hurts 
and  open  wounds. 

It  is  after  nightfall — at  least  in  the  cave  there  is  but 
the  light  of  night;  without,  in  the  open,  it  is  not  yet  quite 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


177 


dark — that  Usha's  efforts  are  rewarded  by  the  waking  of 
Kin-da-shon's  self. 

After  having  done  all,  Usha  retires  to  one  side  of  the 
cave,  and,  wrapped  in  her  blanket,  allows  no  unnecessary 
anxiety  to  interfere  with  her  natural  rest.  Deep-breathed 
sleep  has  her  now  in  full  possession. 

Not  so  Kotch-kul-ah — nothing  could  lure  her  from  the 
side  of  Kin-da-shon.  Half-reclining,  she  leans  over  him 
and  with  one  hand  brushes  back  from  the  high,  smooth 
forehead  the  soft,  dark  hair,  while  the  other  she  holds 
lightly  and  anxiously  over  the  slow-beating  heart,  watch- 
ing its  faintest  variation.  A  change  has  come — come  so 
gently  and  so  gradually  that  the  watcher  is  not  yet  cer- 
tain of  the  quickened  action,  when  the  face  turns  slightly 
toward  her ;  then,  before  she  recovers  from  that  surprise, 
the  '.veak  voice  is  heard  in  slow  questioning: 

"  Mother  ? " 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  her  whole  heart  rises  in  an 
ecstasy  of  love  and  joy. 

What  did  he  say  ?  She  could  not  have  told — he  is  alive. 
He  is  awake;  she  is  with  him! 

Not  a  word  could  she  have  spoken  even  had  she  under- 
stood his  question.  Her  heart  chokes  all  common  utter- 
ance. With  impulse  uncontrolled  she  lays  her  cheek  to 
his,  and  then  to  his  cool  forehead  presses  her  burning  lips. 

His  right  arm  reaches  out  toward  her;  but  uncertainly, 
feebly,  and  with  a  moan,  he  drops  it  before  it  has  found 
her  hand.  She  takes  it  in  both  her  own;  she  strokes  it 
fondly,  tenderly. 

He  rests ;  in  a  very  short  time  she  knows  that  he  is 
sleeping — sleeping  as  one  whom  his  mother  keeps. 

Through  all  the  weary  night  her  faithful  love — not  his 
mother's — keeps  its  unwearied  vigil.  His  sleep  is  long 
and  refreshing,  and  when,  in  the  morning's  faint  light,  he 


178 


A'lN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


awakes,  Usha  is  stirring  about,  getting  fresh  broth  and 
poultice-leaves  ready  for  her  patient. 

For  a  time  his  gaze  follows  her,  half-vacantly,  before 
thought  and  sense  come  again  to  inquire:  **Who?  When? 
Why  ?" 

His  lips  move  unreadily;  his  tongue  sleeps.  He  need 
not  speak;  his  eyes  can  do  the  questioning;  and  without 
turning  his  head  they  begin  to  search  the  place. 

His  own  gun,  the  supplies  of  food,  the  rocky  walls 
have  all  passed  under  his  scrutiny  before  he  becomes 
aware  of  the  presence  by  his  side,  before  he  feels  the 
warm  hand  holding  his  own. 

As  he  becomes  sensible  of  its  touch  a  flash  of  intelli- 
gence— of  recollection — comes  into  his  face. 

"  Mother!  "  comes  from  his  lips;  but  he  does  not  try  to 
move;  it  is  so  good  just  to  live — he  would  like  to  lie  just 
so  forever.  It  would  be  hard  to  move,  and  she  is  so 
seated  that  he  cannot  see  her  face  without  moving. 

He  presses  ever  so  softly  the  hand  which  holds  his  own. 

There  is  a  warm  answering  clasp.  It  is  enough;  he 
closes  his  eyes  and  would  sleep,  but  a  spoon,  half-filled 
with  hot  broth,  is  held  to  his  lips,  and  the  gentle  hand 
passes  from  his  to  turn  his  head  and  lift  it  a  little,  that 
he  may  drink. 

How  warm  and  good  it  is!  It  is  just  like  mother's 
broth !     And  now  he  wants  to  sleep. 

It  is  near  noon  when  he  again  awakes,  and  it  is  with 
new  strength.  Usha  has  at  last  prevailed  upon  Kotch- 
kul-ah  to  take  her  blankets  and  get  some  sleep,  though 
it  was  long  before  sleep  came  to  bless  the  weary  and  ex- 
cited girl.  Now  she  does  not  stir  even  at  the  voice  of 
Kin-da-shon,  as  he  at  last  lifts  his  head  and  questions 
Usha  of  his  whereabouts. 

*' But  my  mother — where  is  she? " 


AN  ALASKAN  STORY. 


179 


*'  She  has  not  been  here." 

"  'Not  been  here  '  ?  Surely  I  did  not  dream  last  night 
when  she  sat  beside  me  and  touched  my  face?" 

From  Usha  an  unsatisfactory,  wordless  sound  is  his 
only  answer.     She  goes  on  with  her  work. 

"Tell  me,  Usha;  tell  me  who  it  was,  if  my  mother  was 
not  here.  Is  any  one  else  here — any  woman  besides 
yourself?  I  know  it  is  so.  This  morning  when  I  awoke 
she  was  beside  me  still.  Who  was  it?  Where  is  she 
now?" 

"  If  that  you  hear,  you  must  first  promise  to  hide  in 
your  heart  the  secret  of  this  place.  You  must  tell  no  one 
who  helped  you  or  where  you  were  sheltered.  You  shall 
let  no  one  know  that  Usha  lives." 

"I  promise  you,  Usha.  To  cause  you  trouble  were 
mean  pay  for  your  kindness.  But  how  can  you  live 
here?" 

With  a  broad  sweep  of  her  hand  over  her  accumulated 
stores,  she  asks: 

"  Does  that  look  as  if  I  could  not  live?" 

"  But  through  the  winter — and  alone?  " 

"  You  say  I  am  7iot  alone!  " 

With  something  of  a  puzzled  air,  not  unmixed  with 
amusement,  Kin-da-shon  asks: 

^^  Are  you  alone,  Usha?     You  promised  to  tell  me." 

"  I  would  not  have  promised,  even  trusting  you,  if  it 
could  be  hidden.  But  to  get  you  away  from  here  we  must 
have  her  help.  There  " — pointing  to  the  blanket-covered 
figure  in  the  darker  end  of  the  cave — "  there  is  Kotch-kul- 
ah,  and  she  saved  your  life!  "  Then,  after  a  full  pause,  she 
adds:  "She  saved  your  life,  and  unless  you  can  save  hers 
she  must  share  my  beast-life  or  die" 

Startled  by  the  woman's  intense  manner  as  much  as  by 
her  words,  Kin-da-shon  makes  hasty  answer: 


I  So 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


"Life  for  life  is  not  too  much;  surely  I  will  save  hers 
if  I  may.     But  why  must  she  die?     Why  must  she  hide?" 

**  Yealh-neddy  is  not  one  to  give  up  a  mouse-skin  with- 
out pay,  and  when  it  comes  to  losing  the  wife  he  wanted, 
nothing  short  of  her  life  will  satisfy  him." 

For  the  first  time  Kin-da-shon  now  takes  in  the  situa- 
tion, though  at  first  bewildered.  He  recalls  bit  by  bit, 
as  of  half-remembered  dreams,  until  all  the  parts  of  his 
experience  at  Yhin-da-stachy  and  his  sad  walk  cut  short 
by  the  bear's  advent  have  been  pondered  over  and  pieced 
together,  and  he  is  sure  of  the  whole.  Then  to  Usha  he 
turns  again  and  says: 

*'  Kotch-kul-ah  is  free  from  Yealh-neddy.  I  myself  and 
others  heard  him  make  a  vow  that  he  would  never  take 
her  for  his  wife,  and  that  he  would  hold  neither  Kotch- 
kul-ah  nor  her  tribe  to  answer  for  his  loss."  Then  he 
tells  the  story  of  Yealh-neddy's  gambling  difficulties  and 
their  sequel,  of  which  he  has  been  a  witness. 

"  But  she  can  never  go  back  to  her  mother 
neddy  would  find  ways  to  make  her  kill  herself, 
never  forget;  he  will  make  her  pay  the  last  hair, 
him  well  enough  to  be  sure  of  that." 

"  Then  she  need  never  go  back  to  Yhin-da-stachy.  My 
mother  and  father  love  Kotch-kul-ah;  they  will  take  care 
of  her  always.     Let  her  stay  with  them." 

"That  is  good!  She  will  go  to  them.  Did  you  hear 
any  word  spoken  of  old  Usha-shawet,  Kin-da-shon  ? "  the 
woman  asks,  giving  at  last  a  thought  to  herself. 

"  Only  that  she  had  disappeared  in  the  night,  and  that 
among  the  dead-houses  and  through  the  villages  she  had 
been  searched  for,  then  given  up  as  a  bad  spirit." 

"Then  I  am  best  in  my  own  hiding-place.  There  is 
no  peace  for  me  among  the  living.  When  I  have  suffered 
enough  to  be  a  spirit  I  may  do  them  as  much  harm  as 


Yealh- 
Hewill 
I  know 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


i8i 


they  think  I  do — if  that  is  what  spirits  are  for.  Why  is 
it?  I  can't  think  why — when  I  like  to  gather  roots  and 
make  the  sick  folk  better." 

"In  the  south-land  I  have  heard  strange  things,  Usha; 
stranger  than  tales  of  witchcraft.  Have  you  heard  ever 
of  a  spirit  that  did  not  work  evil — a  spirit  that  loved  peo- 
ple and  wanted  always  to  help  them?" 

"Never;  no  spirit  like  that  ever  lived  in  the  Chilkat 
country." 

"But  there  is  such  a  spirit,  Usha.  I  don't  know  him 
much  myself;  but  there  is  a  white  man  in  Fort  Simpson 
who  told  us  about  a  Great  Spirit  who  made  the  world  and 
everything  in  it,  and  that  he  loves  the  people  as  much  as 
a  father  loves  his  children." 

"I  don't  believe  it.  If  he  was  strong  enough  to  make 
all  things  he  would  be  strong  enough  to  keep  them  from 
so  much  trouble.  No,  no,  Kin-da-shon;  don't  be  foolish. 
The  lying  old  raven  made  us  on  purpose  to  torment  us. 
That  is  easy  to  believe." 

"I  told  you  that  it  was  stranger  than  our  stories;  but 
that  is  not  the  strangest  part  of  it.  This  Chief  of  the 
Above  made  everything  good  and  glad,  the  man  said; 
and  I  suppose  it  was  the  raven — '  the  evil  one,'  he  said — 
fooled  the  people  that  lived  first  and  got  them  to  do  things 
he  liked;  so  they  got  off  into  the  dark  among  all  these 
witch-spirits,  and  got  dirty  and  sick  and  full  of  trouble, 
and  then  blind.  And  they  forgot  the  way  back,  and  at 
last  didn't  know  they  had  a  Father  that  ever  loved  them 
at  all."  As  Kin-da-shon  spoke,  slowly  and  with  an 
effort  recalling  the  connection  here  and  there,  a  faint  but 
real  glow  of  faith's  assurance,  such  as  had  never  appeared 
during  his  hearing  of  the  truth,  began  to  burn  in  his  own 
heart. 

What  he  had  listened  to  as  a  new  story  only  has  become 


102 


KIN-DA-SIION'S    WIFE: 


a  reality  in  which  he,  as  one  of  those  lost  children,  has 
personal  interest;  and  he  stopped  to  ponder  it. 

"Is  that  all?" 

"No:  the  rest  is  yet  more  strange.  The  evil  one  was 
doing  everything  to  spoil  the  Good  Spirit's  things. 
Whole  tribes  of  the  people  that  he  had  made  to  be  clean 
and  happy  turned  from  him  and  worked  with  the  spirits 
of  darkness.  They  broke  his  stick,  and  they  got  hurt  so 
they  couldn't  help  themselves;  and  they  lost  all  their 
blankets,  so  they  couldn't  pay  for  what  they  had  done; 
and  they  turned  from  him  more  and  more,  and  got  so 
they  couldn't  help  working  against  him  all  the  time " 

"Well,  I  guess  that's  about  what  the  Chilkats  are  do- 
ing," Usha  interrupted, 

"And  their  debts  to  him  got  so  piled  up  that  they 
took  the  life  of  every  man  and  woman  and  child  in  the 
world  to  pay,  and  then  it  wasn't  paid " 

"And  then  he  threw  them  down  and  tramped  on 
them?" 

"No,  no;  that's  what  a  man  chief  would  do,  isn't  it? 
But  he  didn't;  that's  the  strangest  part;  ]ie  cried  for  them; 
he  loved  them;  and  he  tried  to  think  how  he  could  pay 
for  them  and  bring  them  back.  His  own  boy,  Jesus 
Christ,  was  the  Chief  to  do  it,  and  he  did;  he  paid  for  us 
all  himself,  and  he  is  living  yet  and  loves  us.  Think  of 
that,  Usha!  a  spirit,  and  he  loves  us!  " 

"How  does  the  white  man  know?" 

"  He  has  a  letter  from  God  that  tells,  and  it  tells  about 
a  happy  place  where  God  is.  And,  Usha,  you  knew  Kah- 
sha.  He  saw  the  I'^ht  of  that  place  before  he  died;  he 
said  it  was  not  far,  and  he  was  glad  to  go." 

As  Kin-da-shon  has  proceeded  with  the  message  to 
Usha,  his  realization  of  it  has  deepened,  and  with  the 
mention  of  infinite  love  and  its  remedy  for  sin  the  mois- 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


183 


ture  has  gathered  in  his  clear  eyes,  and  something  very 
like  a  sob  half-chokes  his  speech. 

Usha  sits  as  one  into  whose  lap  has  been  poured  things 
of  uncertain  but  possible  value,  which  she  means  to  look 
over  before  throwing  them  away. 

Though  the  voices  have  failed  to  arouse  Kotch-kul-ah, 
the  silence  now  has  that  effect;  and  starting  up  with  a 
vague  sense  of  something  wrong,  she  sits  facing  Kin-da- 
shon  before  she  realizes  the  situation.  Then  the  full 
waves  of  crimson  flush  her  face  and  neck,  the  eyelids 
drop  over  the  flashing  lights,  while  she  is  silent  and  con- 
fused by  her  gladness, 

Kin-da-shon,  unembarrassed  by  any  tender  feeling, 
looks  at  the  girl  with  sensations  similar  to  those  with 
which  he  had  watched  the  night  sun  from  the  mountains 
of  the  north.  The  peculiar  thrill  of  a  sensitive  organiza- 
tion passes  through  him  at  this  vision  of  fresh  womanly 
beauty — beauty  such  as  he  had  never  before  seen.  Now 
as  her  blushes  rise  and  her  eyelids  fall  he  still  gazes  on 
with  wondering  appreciation;  it  is  also  a  rosy  sunset — this 
vision  before  him — more  beautiful  than  in  its  full  glory. 

It  is  Usha  who  breaks  the  spell. 

"You  have  slept  long,  Kotch-kul-ah.  Eat;  for  there 
is  work  enough  to  do  before  to-morrow." 

As  she  speaks  she  rises,  and  setting  food  before  the 
girl,  goes  on  to  say: 

"  Kin-da-shon  must  go  on  to  Klok-won  to-night.  There 
is  good  to  no  one  in  his  stopping  longer  here — and  you 
must  go  with  him,  Kotch-kul-ah." 

A  quick,  questioning  look  is  her  only  reply,  Kotch- 
kul-ah  is  eating  now. 

"Kin-da-shon  has  brought  strange  news  for  you:  Yealh- 
neddy  has  thrown  you  away,  and  you  are  to  live  where  you 
please." 


i84 


KIN.DA.SnON'  S    IVIFE: 


not   in    Yhin-da- 


"  And  you,  Usha  ? " 

"I   will    live  where   I  please,    too 
stachy." 

"And  not  in  Klok-won?" 

"  How  long  could  I  live  there,  do  you  think  ?  Witches 
work  best  in  the  dark.  This  is  my  place  now.  It  mat- 
ters nothing  to  any  one  where  I  am  to-morrow." 

"  Usha!  "  cries  the  girl  reproachfully,  "/want  always 
to  know  where  you  ire.  You  have  been  good  to  me.  If 
ever  you  had  a  witch-spirit,  it  is  gone.  I  know  you,  and 
I  love  you!  " 

Kneeling  at  her  side,  TJcha  takes  the  girl's  hands,  hold- 
ing them  and  smoothing  them  tenderly,  while  tears  all 
unused  to  flowing  drop  down  over  the  wrinkled  cheeks 
and  wet  the  enfolding  hands. 

"  My  little  one — my  precious!  "  she  says  over  and  over 
again. 

"  Tell  me  what  to  do,  Usha — you  are  wise!  " 

"You  will  help  to  take  Kin-da-shon  to  his  father's 
house — your  uncle's  house — and  there >v^/^  will  find  a  nest- 
ing-place; that  is  best." 

"Yes,  Kotch-kul-ah,  my  father  will  be  a  father  to  you, 
and  my  mother  will  love  you,"  Kin-da-shon  says,  grate- 
fully and  earnestly, 

A  look  of  joy  is  her  answer;  and  Usha  resumes: 

"As  soon  as  daylight  begins  to  die  we  will  take  the 
canoe  and  get  out  into  the  river;  we  can  reach  Klok-won 
before  the  new  day." 

"  Then  you  are  going,  too,  Usha  ? "  Kotch-kul-ah  asks, 
in  pleased  surprise. 

"  To  be  sure  I  am  going  too.  How  else  would  you  go? 
But  you  and  Kin-da-shon  shall  have  no  tongues  in  Klok- 
won;  and  I  will  be  down  the  rapids  and  safe  in  my  hole 
before  any  one  else  has  eyes." 


AN   ALASKAN   STORY. 


i«5 


So  the  arrangements  are  made,  and  afterward  are  car- 
ried out  with  entire  success. 

As  the  little  party  nears  Klok-won  in  the  early  purple 
of  the  morning,  before  a  house  can  be  discerned  they  hear 
the  baying  of  the  village  dogs — hundreds  of  them;  at 
which  familiar  sound,  so  long  unheard,  Kotch-kul-ah  falls 
to  crying.  'Tis  one  of  the  tokens  of  human  life! — sweet 
life! — ah!  and  bitter! 

When  Usha  has  set  the  "children  "  on  the  shore  a  half- 
mile  on  the  nearer  side  of  the  village,  d  watched  them 
for  a  moment  as  they  start  along  the  tra'i,  it  is  with  feel- 
ings of  such  genuine  motherly  plea',  ire  for  them  that,  for 
a  time  at  least,  there  is  no  sense  of  her  own  desolation; 
aiiva  then,  when  her  poor  little  boat  drop-f  into  the  hurry- 
ing stream,  a  certain  exultation  of  spirit  takes  possession 
of  her — an  almost  defiance  of  the  powers  of  darkness — a 
feeling  that,  in  spite  of  men  and  demons,  Kotca  kul-ah 
shall  be  happy.  There  can  be  no  other  way  now ;  she 
knows  it  full  well,  and  laughs  as  she  cons  it.  Kin-da- 
shon  must  be  her  husband  now.  If  all  else  were  against 
it  the  honor  of  both  tribes  is  now  at  stake — coming  as 
they  do  out  of  the  night  together,  from — no  one  knows 
where. 

Yes;  no  time  will  be  lost  in  making  it  known  through- 
out the  tribes  that  they  are  husband  and  wife.  And  yet 
Kin-da-shon  has  not  thought  of  such  a  thing — Usha  is 
sure  of  that;  but  Kotch-kul-ah  thinks  of  nothing  else  than 
that  it  is  his  wish  and  intention  to  make  her  his  wife. 

But  Kin-da-shon  is  good,  Usha  knows.  He  will  soon 
see  that  he  cannot  let  her  honor  or  his  own  be  dimmed. 
He  will  marry  her,  and  he  will  be  none  the  less  happy. 
And  in  all  this  Usha  is  a  true  prophet. 

The  early  rousing  of  Shans-ga-gate's  household  by  the 
coming  of  Kin-da-shon  and  Kotch-kul-ah  is  the  occasion 


1 86 


KIN-DA. SIION'S    WIFE: 


of  a  great  commotion,  which  soon  extends  through  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  village;  and  when  their  experi- 
ence, or  as  much  of  it  as  they  have  agreed  upon  telling, 
has  been  made  known,  they  are  welcomed  as  the  lost  now 
found. 

Kin-da-shon's  story  of  Yealh-neddy's  complete  renun- 
ciation of  Kotch-kul-ah  is  received  with  unmixed  delight 
by  the  friends,  who  at  once  begin  to  name  the  gifts  which 
shall  be  made  her  mother  on  Kin-da-shon's  account. 

Kin-da-shon  soon  awakes  to  the  necessities  of  the  case, 
which,  even  had  Tashekah  been  free,  would  have  been 
almost  impossible  to  flee  from.  As  it  is,  though  his 
heart  cries  for  his  only  love  and  will  not  be  comforted, 
he  knows  that  his  only  peace,  and  Kotch-kul-ah's,  is  in 
yielding  to  this  arrangement  so  pleasing  to  his  friends 
and  so  exacted  by  circumstances. 

Thus  it  comes  about  that  from  this  very  day  Kin-da- 
shon  and  Kotch-kul-ah,  his  wife,  are  amoi.g  the  "  old 
folks"  of  this  household.  Kotch-kul-ah  full  of  life,  with 
high  and  happy  spirits;  Kin-da-shon  quiet — often  sad,  but 
always  gentle  and  kind.  Before  his  shoulders  have  fully 
recovered  their  soundness,  his  mother  and  father,  with 
other  friends,  make  the  trip  to  Yhin-da-stachy,  taking 
such  presents  as  fully  satisfy  Kah-de-guah  and  her  family, 
and  give  the  final  seal  to  the  marriage. 

Yealh-neddy  hears  the  contract  with  a  grinding  of  nis 
teeth  and  with  an  inward  cursing  which  bodes  no  good  to 
the  young  husband  and  his  wife. 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


187 


CHAPTER   XV. 


THE    WEDDING-PARTY. 


jy"  UN-UL-KOO'S  betrothal  trial  of  six  months  in  the 
family  of  his  chosen  bride  is  at  an  end,  and  with  mu- 
tual congratulations  the  friends  of  the  couple  meet  again 
in  the  house  of  Shans-ga-gate  to  ratify  the  marriage  agree- 
ment. 

For  many  days  snow  has  been  falling  heavily  and  con- 
tinuously, and  the  Kutwulhtoo  people  have  come  up  by 
trail  on  snow-shoes. 

The  short  journey  has  been  a  carnival,  filled,  as  the 
people  always  are,  with  childlike  joy  and  exuberance  of 
spirits  at  the  appearance  of  early  winter  snows;  the  young 
men  with  their  light  and  slender  snow-shoes  have  run 
races  with  each  other  the  entire  distance  over  the  broad 
white  way — all  minor  obstacles  being  hid  far  beneath  its 
surface.  Servants  have  carried  the  packs  of  blankets  and 
skins  which  go  to  Shans-ga-gate  and  Sha-ga-uk,  the  par- 
ents of  the  bride.  The  groom's  father  and  mother  with 
their  friends  follow,  with  merry  speech  and  laughter. 

And  now,  leaving  their  snow-shoes  at  the  door,  that  no 
ill  luck  may  enter  the  house,  the  friends  gather  about  the 
great  pile  of  blazing  logs  in  pleasant  sociability.  Mes- 
sengers have  been  sent  with  strict  etiquette  to  bid  those 
of  the  village  who  are  expected  to  come.  The  goods 
have  all  been  looked  over  and  approved  by  the  recipients, 
who,  on  the  other  hand,  make  quite  a  display  of  Kahs- 
teen's  handiwork.  Here  stands  her  dancing-blanket  loom, 
with  its  blanket  well  begun,  showing  smooth,  even  work 


1 88 


KIN-DA.SIION' S    WIFE: 


of  fine  twisted  thread;  beside  it  are  large  baskets  filled 
with  soft  white  and  variously  dyed  wool  "rolls  "and  yarn. 
There  are  skins  of  the  silver  fox  and  sea-otter,  as  well  as 
others  of  less  valuable  kinds,  which  Kahs-teen  has  dressed 
and  tanned  and  made  into  robes.  There  are  hides  of 
dressed  leather,  soft  as  velvet,  of  a  creamy  white  color 
and  of  a  golden  brown.  There  are  also  numerous  articles 
of  clothing,  fashioned  by  her  b;isy  fingers  from  other  skins 
similarly  prepared — shirt  and  trousers  with  combination 
moccasins,  embroidered  with  beads  and  gayly  colored 
porcupine  quills;  there  are  mittens  made  of  tanned  skins, 
with  the  fur  inside,  and  fur  caps  and  boots,  with  blanket 
stockings. 

Very  flattering  eulogies  come  from  the  examiners  now 
seating  themselves  in  social  fashion;  but  at  length  a 
silence  falls  over  all,  in  expectation  of  the  few  words 
which  will  complete  this  high-class  marriage. 

A  man  of  years,  with  whitening  head,  who  is  a  relative 
to  neither  family,  but  a  friend  of  each,  has  been  called 
upon  to  speak.  Without  rising,  he  responds  by  address- 
ing first  the  bridegroom,  who  has  taken  a  more  prominent 
place  in  the  company  than  on  the  occasion  of  his  be- 
trothal: 

"  Kun-ul-koo,  son  of  the  Bear,  you  have  been  allowed 
your  eyes  and  your  ears,  your  smell  and  your  taste  in  this 
household  for  six  moons — is  your  heart  still  the  same? 
Is  your  desire  still  for  the  daughter  of  Sha-ga-uk  ? " 

In  a  clear  voice,  and  with  a  straightforward  look,  the 
young  man  makes  answer: 

"Ah,  ah!  my  friends!  The  heart  of  Kun-ul-koo  is 
made  strong! " 

Then  to  the  young  bride  turns  the  old  man:  "Kahs- 
teen,  daughter  of  the  Ravens,  is  your  heart  filled — do 
you  cry  for  no  other  ? " 


AN  ALASKAN    STONY. 


189 


Blushing  and  shy,  she  draws  back  still  more  behind  her 
mother.     Her  answer  is  too  low  to  reach  the  company. 

"  She  wants  him,"  speaks  the  mother;  at  which  the  old 
man  turns  to  the  parents: 

"  This  new  man  and  woman  have  net  changed  their 
hearts  in  the  sight  of  each  other  for  six  moons.  Sha-ga- 
uk  and  Shans-ga-gate,  are  your  hearts  for  this  thing?  Is 
this  young  man  what  you  want  for  )'^our  daughter's  hus- 
band ?     Are  you  and  your  friends  satisfied  with  his  gifts ? " 

"  His  gifts  are  good!  He  is  a  good  man!  "  answer  the 
mother  and  father  of  Kahs-teen,  w/iile  Kin-dd-shon  adds: 

"Kun-ul-koo  is  to  my  mother  as  I  am,  and  to  my 
father  as  his  brother. " 

Then  to  the  parents  of  Kun-ul-koo  the  old  man  speaks: 

"Have  you  anything  against  this  woman ?"  and  th'^y 
answer : 

"She  is  our  choice." 

Now  there  is  a  loosening  of  tongues  among  the  assem- 
bled company — merry  laughter  and  noisy  chatter  soon 
dispel  all  shadow  of  ceremony. 

Great  messes  of  fat  bear-flesh  have  been  set  boiling, 
sending  their  savory,  steamy  odors  through  the  place. 
When  this  part  of  the  feast  is  nearly  cooked  dried  fish  are 
set  on  slender  sticks,  to  grow  crisp  before  the  fire,  while 
from  their  ash-pits  under  low-burning  coals  are  raked  out 
a  number  of  roasted  fowl. 

When  these  last  have  been  deprived  of  their  coat  of 
feathers  and  the  stews  have  been  dished  and  the  fish 
broken  on  their  trays,  the  whole  company  is  served. 
Then  the  fire  is  built  up  anew — logs  on  logs  somewhat  as 
a  lo"- '  ■•:"■  ■-  built — and  as  the  early  darkness  falls  upon 
the  village  this  home  is  the  scene  of  hearty  good  cheer 
and  brightness. 

After  the  protracted  and  satisfying  meal  the  remnants 


190 


KIN-DA  -  SI  I  ON' S    WIFE : 


of  food  are  cared  for  by  the  servants,  who  retire  to  the 
further  corners  of  the  room  and  enjoy  their  portion,  while 
story-telling  and  fireside  games  occupy  the  company. 

"  Shans-ga-gate  first,"  the  Kutwulhtoo  people  demand. 
'*  Let  him  tell  the  story  of  his  tribe,  since  he  has  taken  an- 
other dear  into  his  family." 

"No,  friends,  no;  let  us  hear  first  something  of  the 
raven  from  his  friends — that  were  more  fitting  to  begin 
with,  since  they  are  my  guests.  Nalh-say,"  addressing 
the  father  of  his  daughter's  husband — "Nalh-say,  tell  of 
his  tricks,  one  or  two — to  quit  before  you're  gray  you 
could  not  tell  them  all." 

So  urged,  Nalh-say  begins: 

"Long  time  ago — he!  he!  he!  cha-auk!  [given  with 
closed  eyes,  prolongec^  intonation,  and  with  the  extended 
right  hand  and  index  finger  describing  a  half-circle  with 
horizontal  base],  two  Kling-get  women — sisters — lived  all 
alone  in  a  little  house  they  had  made  by  the  great  water, 
for  neither  woman  had  ever  taken  a  husband  nor  wanted 
one.  They  fished  and  hunted  and  lived  full — only  in 
each  woman's  heart  there  was  an  empty  house  for  chil- 
dren; nothing  could  live  in  it  but  a  baby.  So,  wherever 
they  went  or  whatever  they  did,  they  always  thought  about 
a  child. 

"  Yealh — the  Raven — knew  their  hearts.  They  got 
plenty  of  food;  he  was  hungry,  and  hunting  for  himself 
was  not  what  he  liked. 

"  He  saw  an  easy  way  of  getting  what  he  wanted.  So 
one  day  he  made  himself  look  like  a  baby  and  lay  down 
on  the  beach,  crying.  The  women  heard  the  cry  and  ran 
to  find  the  child,  which  each  woman  wanted  for  her  own; 
but  the  one  who  touched  him  first  claimed  him  and  car- 
ried him  to  the  house,  where  she  gave  him  fish  and 
berries. 


^ 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY 


191 


"  He  ate  all  they  had  in  the  house  and  went  to  sleep. 
Then  the  women  went  for  more. 

"  Yealh  wanted  fresh  meat,  with  the  blood,  and  this  is 
the  way  he  got  it:  he  turned  a  young  lynx  into  a  baby, 
just  where  it  would  be  found  by  the  woman  who  had  no 
child. 

**  When  she  had  found  it  and  brought  it  to  the  house, 
her  words  swelled  till  her  sister  was  angry  and  said: 

*"I  don't  believe  it  is  a  baby! ' 

"'Maybe  it  isn't  a  baby.  What  is  it,  then?'  sneered 
the  new  mother. 

"'A  lynx,  likely,'  the  angry  sister  answered,  shooting 
her  arrow  into  the  bushes  and  killing  game  unseen. 

"  'Then^w/r  baby  must  be  Yealh — to  eat  as  he  does. ' 

"  But  when  the  babies  went,  both  of  them,  to  sleep,  the 
mothers  went  again  for  food.  When  they  had  gone, 
Yealh  ate  the  lynx  baby  and  dug  a  hole  in  the  sand,  where 
he  covered  the  bones.  He  went  to  the  water  and  washed 
from  himself  all  spots  of  blood;  he  picked  from  his  teeth 
all  signs  of  the  flesh  he  had  eaten,  then  waited  in  the 
house  for  the  coming  of  the  women. 

"  He  was  still  very  hungry,  and  ate  all  his  mother  had 
brought  home;  but  the  lynx's  mother  was  crying  for  her 
child. 

"  'Where  is  my  baby  ?     Where  is  my  baby  ? ' 

"At  last  Yealh  spoke: 

"'Some  people  came  in  a  canoe  while  you  were  gone. 
They  said  the  baby  belonged  to  them,  and  they  took  it 
away.' 

"  'Where  did  they  go?     What  people  were  they? ' 

"'They  are  not  oi your  people;  they  are  far  from  here. 
You  can  never  find  it. ' 

"  All  night  the  woman  cried,  but  in  the  morning  she 
went  again  with  her  sister  to  get  berries. 


192 


KIN-DA-SIION' S    WIFE: 


"Yealh  ate  all  they  gave  him  when  they  came  home; 
he  was  growing  large  and  strong,  and  was  always  hungry. 

"'To-day,  while  you  were  gone, '  he  told  the  women, 
'that  same  canoe  came  again,  with  a  man  in  it.  He  said 
your  baby  was  hungry.  He  said  if  I  would  bring  food  to 
a  rocky  place  he  told  me  of,  the  baby  would  be  fed.  If 
you  won't  send  the  food  your  baby  will  die.' 

"'I  will  go  myself,'  the  woman  said. 

"'You  can't  go  yourself;  you  can  never  know  the  place. 
Even  if  your  baby  starves,  the  man  will  never  let  you 
know. ' 

"  So  baskets  of  berries,  sea-weed,  and  venison  Yealh 
carried  to  the  forest,  and  alone  among  the  rocks  he  ate 
them  all. 

"  But  what  the  woman  bad  said  in  the  flash  of  her  anger 
came  back  to  her  heart  and  married  a  thought.  She  had 
said  he  was  Yealh — she  began  to  believe  he  was. 

"Every  day  when  he  came  again  with  empty  baskets 
she  was  vexed,  and  the  spirit  in  her  grew  till  she  hid  it 
no  more. 

"  As  she  sat  with  her  sister  on  the  beach  one  day,  wait- 
ing for  the  baskets  to  be  brought  again,  she  spoke  out: 

"  'I  told  you  your  child  was  Yealh — and  he  is.' 

"  Her  sister  was  very  angry  and  poured  out  words  to  bite. 

"  'Well,  if  you  don't  believe  it  let  us  prove  him.  We 
will  take  plenty  of  water  and  make  it  boi'.  When  he 
comes  we  will  put  him  into  it.  If  he  is  Yealh  he  will  fly 
away. ' 

"  To  this  the  mother  agreed,  and  when  he  came  back 
with  his  hungry  baskets  everything  was  ready  for  him. 

"  He  kicked  and  struck  and  struggled,  but  they  were 
strong,  and  into  the  boiling  water  he  went — when  lo! 
away  flew  Yealh,  just  aS  black  as  ever — and  that  was  the 
last  of  the  baby  and  of  his  eating  in  that  house." 


AN  ALAS/CAN   STORY. 


193 


A  general  laugh  greets  the  conclusion  of  Nalh-say's 
story,  which,  though  by  no  means  a  new  one,  has  been 
listened  to  with  fixed  attention  by  young  and  old. 

Back  from  the  fire,  which  now  receives  a  generous  sup- 
ply of  animal  oil  to  increase  its  light,  against  the  inner 
wall,  sits  Kin-da-shon,  and  close  at  his  side,  leaning 
against  his  shoulder  just  a  trifle  now  and  then,  but  still 
leaning,  is  Kotch-kul-ah,  his  wife. 

Kin-da-shon  looks  down  upon  her  tenderly,  yet  not 
without  that  shade  of  sadness  which  has  become  habitual. 

"  Do  all  women  have  that  empty  house  in  their  hearts, 
Kotch-kul-ah?" 

"Maybe,"  she  answers,  with  a  rosy  smile. 

"Would  you  have  Yealh  or  the  iynx  \n yours?"  he  asks 
again,  with  a  twinkle  of  mischief. 

"Neither:  mine  shall  be  Kin-da-shon,"  is  her  ready 
answer,  given  with  a  shy  touch  of  her  hand  upon  his. 
Whereat  he  takes  it  into  his  own  and  lays  them  both  upon 
his  knee,  resting  on  them  his  cool,  moist  forehead. 
Tender  thoughts,  rising  prayerfully,  fill  his  soul.  Though 
his  knowledge  of  the  true  God  is  but  as  a  blade,  he  car- 
ries soil  which  shall  bring  forth  at  least  the  "thirty- 
fold." 

"  Shans-ga-gate — Shans-ga-gate's  story!  "  is  now  heard 
on  all  sides,  and  without  further  urging  comes  the  re- 
sponse: 

"  The  story  of  the  Bear  tribe  is  a  good  one  to  tell.  I 
am  glad  I  am  a  Bear."  Here  all  the  Bears  laugh,  and 
with  them  laugh  the  Ravens. 

"A  long  time  ago — he!  he!  he!  cha-auk — in  the  new 
of  the  year,  the  village  women  went  out  to  gather  yan-a- 
ate.  They  found  only  what  was  spoiled  in  the  growing, 
and  very  bitter;  so  they  walked  on  a  very  great  way  into 
the  forest. 
13 


194 


KIN.DA-SIION'S    WIFE: 


"The  sun  was  not  far  from  its  setting-place  in  the 
north,  when  they  at  last  found  what  they  went  for,  grow- 
ing tender  and  tall — a  whole  village  of  it. 

"  Each  woman  gathered  for  herself  a  heavy  bundle  of 
it,  and  getting  it  on  their  backs  they  started  for  their 
home-place. 

"  One  woman  only  was  left  behind;  she  had  a  very  big 
bundle  and  the  string  broke.  While  she  stopped  to  save 
her  yan-a-ate  the  other  women  got  out  of  sight. 

"  At  last  the  new-tied  bundle  was  on  her  back,  and  be- 
cause of  its  weight  her  body  was  bent  and  her  eyes  were 
on  the  ground;  but  she  walked  fast  in  following  the 
women, 

**  She  had  walked  a  long  time  before  she  stopped  to 
look  and  listen.  There  was  neither  sight  nor  sound  of 
her  friends;  her  ears  told  her  only  of  the  night-bird  and 
the  rushing  of  a  mountain  stream.  Her  eyes  told  her  of 
no  footprint  like  her  own — the  way  she  was  going  was 
not  the  way  she  had  come.  The  sun  was  gone ;  there  was 
nothing  to  tell  her  whither  she  should  go, 

*' She  was  frightened.  She  cried  as  the  sea-gull.  There 
was  no  answer  but  that  the  mountain  rocks  gave  her. 

"Changing  her  course,  she  went  a  little  way  further, 
when  she  heard  a  gruif  voice  say: 

"'You  have  left  your  own  people;  you  will  never  find 
them,'  She  looked  up  and  saw  a  very'great  bear.  She 
began  to  cry  again  and  dropped  her  yan-a-ate.  Still  she 
did  not  run. 

"'Never  mind  them,'  the  bear  said.  'You  shall  be  my 
wife;  you  will  be  very  glad;  you  will  cry  no  more  for 
your  people.  Come:  we  are  going  down  to  the  stream 
for  fish.  * 

"  He  picked  up  some  of  her  yan-a-ate  and  tasted  of  it ; 
and  she  saw  then  that  a  great  many  other  bears,   men, 


\ 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY, 


195 


\ 


women,  and  children  bears,  were  coming  down  toward  the 
stream, 

"As  they  came  near  the  first  bear  said  to  them: 

"'Here  is  my  wife.     I  have  just  found  her.' 

"All  the  bears  looked  at  her  and  looked  pleased,  but 
just  the  women  bears — they  didn't  like  her.  She  knew  it 
and  was  sorry,  but  she  went  with  her  husband,  and  when 
all  had  got  plenty  of  fish  they  went  back  into  the  woods. 

"  What  at  first  seemed  to  her  thick  trees  she  soon  saw 
were  houses — the  bears'  village. 

"Then  all  the  women  bears  made  fires  and  cooked  sup- 
per for  their  husbands.  She  tried  to  do  the  same,  but 
her  fire  would  not  burn. 

"  Next  day  her  husband  went  off  to  hunt,  and  when 
evening  came  she  tried  again  to  make  her  fire  burn  as  the 
other  wives  did;  but,  as  before,  there  wa-  nothing  but 
black  sticks;  and  when  her  husband  came  he  found  no 
supper  ready — only  a  crying  wife. 

"'Why  do  you  cry?'  he  asked  her. 

"'I  can't  make  a  fire;  and  all  the  women  laugh  at  me,' 
she  said. 

"'How  did  you  make  your  fire?'  he  asked  her  again; 
and  she  answered  him,  with  a  strong  voice: 

"'My  sticks  were  dry  and  I  made  it  right.' 

"  Then  her  husband  laughed  as  the  women  had  laughed, 
but  not  with  their  bitterness. 

"'That  is  the  reason  that  your  fire  burns  not,'  he  said. 
'You  must  make  it  with  w^/ sticks;  all  the  women  make 
fire  that  way. '  And  when  he  showed  her  how  to  do  it  she 
loved  him. 

"After  a  long  time  the  woman's  brothers  rame  near 
this  bears'  village  hunting:  they  were  very  hungry;  their 
people  had  no  food,  and  many  were  dying  for  something 
to  eat.     These  seven  brothers  of  the  bear's  wife  had  come 


196 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


from  far,  finding  nothing  till  they  came  to  the  bears*  vil- 
lage. They  saw  the  very  house  where  their  sister  lived; 
and  when  they  listened  they  heard  the  sound  of  voices, 
but  could  not  tell  what  was  being  said. 

"The  six  big  brothers  said  to  their  little  brother: 

"'Go  close  to  that  bear's  house  and  shoot  an  arrow 
into  it!  • 

"The  little  brother  crept  close  up  to  the  house,  but  in- 
stead of  shooting  he  listened.  He  heard  his  sister's  voice 
— she  was  speaking  to  her  husband  about  a  little  baby 
which  she  knew  would  come  soon  to  her  arms.  Then  the 
boy  looked  in  and  saw  the  woman. 

"  She  had  on  a  piece  of  the  dress  she  used  to  wear,  but 
it  was  worn  out,  and  on  her  arms  and  neck  he  saw  soft, 
warm  bear's  fur.  He  saw  her  husband  very  kind  to  her, 
though  his  voice  was  the  heavy  voice  of  a  great  bear. 

"Now,  for  a  year  after  their  sister  was  lost  all  her 
brothers  had  cried  for  her  and  hunted  for  her;  and  then 
had  given  a  feast  for  her,  believing  she  was  dead. 

"When  the  little  boy  saw  his  sister  in  the  bear's  house 
he  ran  back  to  his  six  brothers  and  told  them.  They 
were  angry,  for  their  stomachs  were  empty,  and  their 
knees  knocked  together  for  want  of  strength.  They  must 
have  that  bear;  so  they  sent  the  little  brother  back  again, 
and  again  he  shot  no  arrow;  only  listened. 

"  This  time  he  heard  the  bear  speak ;  he  had  seen  the 
men  and  was  telling  his  wife  about  them.  Then  the  woman 
looked  out  carefully,  and  when  she  had  seen  her  brothers 
she  told  her  husband  there  was  no  danger — she  was  their 
sister,  she  said;  they  would  never  harm  her  husband. 

"  But  they  did.  When  she  went  out  to  tell  them,  they  shot 
her  husband  and  took  her  away  with  them — the  meat  also. 

"  For  many  days  and  nights  her  tears  wet  the  ground  of 
their  hut.     None  of  her  friends  could  make  her  heart  glad 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


197 


again.  But  one  day  she  laughed.  It  was  the  day  her 
baby  came. 

*'It  was  not  a  baby  like  her  brothers — it  was  three 
babies — brown  as  their  father — and  she  was  glad! 

"Her  friends  were  angry,  and  her  brothers  were  veiy 
hard  to  the  young  bears,  complaining  of  the  food  they  ate, 
and  many  times  planning  to  make  food  of  them  to  pay. 

"  But  their  mother  helped  them  always  till  they  grew 
stronger.  They  grew  fast — faster  and  stronger  than  her 
own  people  ever  grew. 

*'  Then  came  another  famine.  The  people  were  starv- 
ing and  ready  to  die.  But  the  bear  children,  now  grown, 
went  every  day  and  brought  food  enough  to  the  village 
for  all  the  people.  There  was  no  more  hunger,  no  more 
sickness.  Old  men  and  little  ones  laughed  together,  and 
loved  the  bears. 

"Stronger  and  stronger  grew  the  new  people  till  they 
were  the  head  of  their  country,  and  even  the  Ravens 
looked  up  and  praised  them.  That's  the  beginning  of  the 
Cinnamon  Bear  tribe." 

Although  interested,  many  of  the  children  had  curled 
up  in  their  blankets  and  gone  to  sleep  before  Shans- 
ga-gate  had  finished  his  story.  At  its  conclusion,  by 
general  consent,  the  party  broke  up  with  very  little  cere- 
mony; the  Kutwulhtoo  people  to  return  to  their  homes 
after  a  few  hours  of  sleep  with  their  toes  toward  the 
kindly  house-fire  of  Shans-ga-gate. 

The  morning  hours  are  more  than  half  gone  before  the 
tardy  daylight  comes  to  rouse  the  sleepers.  The  snow 
has  ceased  falling  and  lies  hard  frozen  on  the  earth.  A 
little  before  noon  the  sun  rises  lazily,  as  though  merely 
stretching  itself  in  sleep,  only  a  hand's-breadth  over  the 
southern  horizon;  and  after  moving  but  a  few  degrees  in 
its  low  course  drops  suddenly  out  of  sight  again. 


I9B 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


THE   GOOSH-TA-KAH — A    BELOVED   GHOST. 

"  IT'S  true,   Shans-ga-gate,   if  ever  the  raven  lied.     I 

-'■  was  crouching  out  of  the  way  watching  my  trap 
when  I  saw  him,  and  at  first  I  thought  it  must  be  my 
chief,  the  bear  himself,  waked  up,  till  he  turned  a  little 
and  I  saw  his  face." 

Here  Kun-ul-koo  covers  his  own  face  as  though  to 
shut  out  the  terrible  vision  which  haunts  him,  and 
trembles  violently. 

"  If  it  was  not  the  bear,  what  was  it  ?  Did  you  have 
your  trap  baited  ? " 

"  Ah,  ah !  I  had  the  best  trap  I  ever  made.  The  young 
cotton-wood  was  just  right  for  the  bending,  and  the  spring 
was  perfect;  my  oily  noose  wanted  to  slide,  and  the  meat 
was  fresh  and  sweet." 

"  What  then — what  happened  ? " 

"Then — the  goosh-ta-kah  came!  Uh!"  And  again 
the  young  man  hides  his  face  at  the  vivid  recollection  of 
his  terror. 

"Go  on.     'Twas  a  dog,  likely  enough." 

"  If  a  dog — why,  then,  let  me  never  see  another." 

"  How  came  he,  then  ?     Did  he  speak  ? " 

"  Not  a  word.  His  voice,  though,  was  as  the  voice  of 
bear  and  lynx — and — maybe  man — I  cannot  tell ;  but  more 
dreadful  than  any  voice  I  ever  heard  besides.  *Twas  when 
he  saw  the  meat  I  heard  it.  I  was  lying  near  the  trap  as 
I  told  you,  listening  and  watching  in  the  bushes,  when 
all  at  once  I  heard  a  noise  like  the  step  of  a  man.     My 


AM  ALASKAN    STORY. 


199 


eyes  followed  my  ears.  The  night  was  raither  light  nor 
(lark,  but  snow  lay  on  the  ground  even  in  the  forest,  and 
I  saw  what  seemed  to  be  the  body  of  a  bear  coming  toward 
the  trap. 

"  As  he  came  nearer  I  saw  that  he  walked  as  a  bear  and 
his  fur  was  as  the  fur  of  a  bear;  but  his  eyes  were  as  the 
eyes  of  the  owl — with  the  sharpness  of  the  lynx.  His 
nose  was  the  nose  of  the  raven  and  his  mouth  was  a  wolf's 
mouth,  with  the  long  white  teeth  showing  sharp  and 
clean.  Then  I  saw  that  his  step  was  not  the  step  of  a 
bear,  but  free,  as  though  the  legs  were  longer,  and  his 
arms  swung  long  and  loose,  and  wrapped  about  the  trees 
or  clung  to  their  boughs  as  he  came. 

"  He  stopped  and  smelled,  and  came  nearer  to  the  trap. 
The  light  in  his  eyes  was  horrible,  and  his  teeth  made  a 
noise  that  shook  my  bones. 

"He  went  straight  to  the  trap;  he  looked  at  the  meat 
and  let  out  the  cry  that  cut  my  liver.  He  picked  up  the 
stout  green  stick  I  had  left  ready  for  my  own  use,  and 
thrust  it  into  the  rope  so  that  it  could  not  slip;  then  he 
sat  down,  just  as  sits  a  man.  My  heart  was  turned  to  ice 
and  my  body  to  stone.  My  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  crea- 
ture as  the  eyes  of  the  dead  are  fixed.  I  could  no  more 
move — but  I  saw  him  all  the  time. 

"  He  put  out  his  hands  and  took  the  meat  up.  He 
smelled  it  strong;  he  cried  out  again;  he  put  his  white 
teeth  into  it  and  tore  off  a  good  half;  he  ate  it  with  greed 
as  he  sat.  He  put  the  other  part  back  into  the  trap  and 
fixed  it  as  it  was  at  first.  When  all  was  done  he  turned 
him  about  again  and  came  closer  to  me.  His  eyes  were 
on  me  and  I  felt  his  breath  so  cold  it  burned  me.  As  my 
heart  died,  he  lifted  wings  like  a  monstrous  raven  an^ 
flew  off  up  the  mountain." 

"  Where  was  it  ?     Where  was  your   .ap  ? " 


200 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


"Not  far  from  here — toward  Kutwulhtoo." 

"  On  the  mountain  ? " 

"No;  at  its  foot." 

"Then  you  were  near  the  images  of  the  medicine-men — 
their  sacred  offering-place!  How  dared  you  go  there — 
taught  since  ever  you  came  irto  the  world  that  none  but 
a  medicine-man  can  go  near  the  images  and  live?  Why 
you  have  lived  to  tell  the  story  is  the  only  wonder  of  it. 
You  can  look  for  ill  luck  and  trouble  the  rest  of  your  life! 
What  took  you  there,  young  fool  ? " 

"  I  was  not  by  the  images  themselves,  and  I  kept  my 
eyes  the  other  way  when  I  found  they  were  near.  The 
snow  was  deep,  and  I  v.andered  a  little  from  the  trail  as 
I  came  from  Kutwulhtoo  the  other  day;  all  around  that 
place  I  found  such  numbers  of  tracks  and  signs  of  game — 
more  than  I  ever  saw  before.  That's  the  reason  I  went 
back  and  fixed  my  trap  there.  It  was  back  from  the 
sacred  place,  and  my  eyes  I  allowed  not  to  turn  toward 
the  Ichts'  images." 

"  Poor  fool!  What's  a  Avhole  season's  game  to  the  evil 
you  have  brought  to  my  house  ?  You  never  heard,  I  sup- 
pose, that  the  spirits  of  evil  spread  those  tracks  on  pur- 
pose to  draw  men  to  their  strong  places?  You  never 
heard  that  the  finest  berries  and  the  fullest  bushes  are 
made  to  grow  in  the  same  place  for  the  same  reason  when 
the  season  turns?  You  never  knew  that  people  died  from 
eating  them?  You  never  saw  old  Koo-dake-clah,  swelled 
up  like  a  frog,  carrying  about  all  her  life  the  unsightly 
load  of  stones  in  her  body — stones  that  the  demons  turned 
her  berries  into  when  she  had  got  her  fill,  one  time  when 
she  lost  her  way  and  found  the  fruit  near  the  offering- 
place?  These  things  were  not  enough  for  Kun-ul-koo — 
he  must  see  and  taste  the  devil  for  himself!  Queer  he 
didn't  take  you — too  stupid  for  his  use,  1  suppose.     He'll 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY, 


20I 


d 

y 

id 


sharpen  you,  no  doubt,  by  the  life  he'll  give  you  now! " 
And  Shans-ga-gate  turns  away  in  disgust  and  miserable 
apprehension,  leaving  his  frightened  and  crestfallen  son- 
in-law  to  such  thoughts  as  may  devour  him. 

Kin-da-shon  has  overheard  the  entire  conversation. 
His  sleep  had  been  disturbed  by  a  dream  of  Kasko — he 
had  seen  him,  wild  and  alone,  on  the  mountains.  When 
he  awakened  it  was  with  the  cold  sweat  standing  on  his 
face,  and  he  lay  in  almost  breathless  silence,  living  over 
again  the  events  of  his  dream.  'Twas  as  he  lay  thus  that 
his  sister's  husband  had  rushed  into  the  house,  with  the 
terror  of  his  night's  experience  on  him;  and  Shans-ga- 
gate,  roused  by  twinges  of  rheumatic  chill,  sat  up  to  rub 
his  knees  just  in  time  to  question  the  affrighted  Kun-ul- 
koo. 

To  Kin-da-shon  this  story  has  seemed  almost  the  inter- 
pretation of  his  dream.  Led  by  his  night's  vision,  this 
new  story  of  the  goosh-ta-kah  suggests  a  new  idea. 

In  common  with  others,  he  has  heard  of  the  ghost-man 
ever  since  he  can  remember.  Unspeakable  terror  has 
many  a  time  caused  his  heart  to  stand  still.  More  than 
once  in  the  dead  of  night  he  has  awakened,  with  the 
sweep  of  death-cold  fingers  on  his  face,  and  staring,  has 
himself  beheld  the  man  of  the  dead  world,  and  lay  breach- 
less  and  speechless  till  the  daylight  came  and  caused  the 
ghost  io  flee.  But  in  all  his  own  experience  there  has 
been  nothing  so  tangible  as  this  vision  of  Kun-ul-koo's. 
*^  Took  up  the  meat  dXi(\  ate  it ! '  Kin-da-shoii  must  know 
more  of  that!  Does  Kun-ul-koo  know  that  some  of  the 
meat  was  gone^  and  the  rest  laid  back  in  order  1  If  he  has 
seen  that,  has  he  seen  the  tracks — can  he  tell  what  they 

were  like?     Could  it  be No;  hardly,  after  so  long 

a  time.     It  is  more  likely  that  Kasko  is  dead.     This  is 
not  the  only  wonderful  story  of  the  goosh-ta-kah  being 


202 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


seen  this  winter,  and  last  winter  the  people  were  greatly 
excited  through  similar  appearances.  Why  should  the 
thought  of  Kasko  connect  itself  with  this  ghost-story 
simply  because  he  had  happened  to  dream  of  him  while 
he  slept?  But  the  idea  will  not  be  reasoned  down — it  has 
come  to  stay  and  grow  until  it  can  command. 

Often  and  often  during  the  past  year  of  their  separation 
Kin-da-shon's  heart  has  run  out  through  the  storm  after 
his  brother-friend.  For  Kasko  his  heart  has  cried  and 
has  been  never  wholly  quieted.  Kasko,  hungry  and  suf- 
fering— perhaps  dying;  and  his  father  dead  and  gone, 
unneeding  his  son's  blood-bought  aid.  Yes,  dead  and 
gone  into  such  light  and  joy  as  Kasko  never  dreamed  of 
gaining;  knowing,  too,  of  a  God  who  had  been  strong 
enough  to  beat  the  devil.  Oh,  Kasko  must  know  it! 
Kin-da-shon  himself  will  go,  without  speaking  to  a  sou!. 
Hv^  will  go  where  Kun-ul-koo  went!  Yes,  if  necessary 
he  v.'ill  go  even  a  little  nearer  to  the  in^ages  of  the  Ichts. 
To-night,  after  all  are  asleep  in  the  house,  he  will  steal 
out  and  see,  perhaps,  the  goosh-ta-kah! 

Kin-da-shon  has  lain  a  long  time  thinking  and  resolv- 
ing. It  is  time  to  rise  now.  He  will  build  up  the  fire 
and  go  for  his  bath.  From  the  ample  store  of  fuel  pro- 
vided yesterday  against  to-day's  need,  the  fire  is  soon 
blazing  well.  Then  taking  his  ?.xe  in  hand,  Kin-da-shon 
goes  down  to  the  ice-bound  river  and  opens  a  hole  in  the 
ice  for  his  usual  morning's  plunge. 

Taking  back  to  the  hcuse  his  axe,  he  calls  the  other  men 
and  boy?.,  and  with  a  bund'e  of  light  switches  in  his  hand 
he  returns  to  the  river,  entirely  relieved  of  superficial 
covering.  Dropping  the  brush-whip,  he  throws  himself 
into  the  ice  bafh,  and  out  of  it  lightly  springs  again. 
Then,  not  too  hurriedly,  he  lies  down  on  the  snowy  bank 
and  rolls  over  and  over.     On  getting  up  he  switches  his 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


203 


body  from  head  to  foot,  rear  and  front,  until  with  the 
stinging  exercise  he  is  in  a  crimson  glow. 

Before  Kin-da-shon  has  finished,  the  male  portion  of 
every  house  in  the  village  has  turned  out  in  the  same 
style  for  the  same  purpose — even  the  little  fellows  of  four 
and  five  years  are  tossed  into  the  icy  water,  thrown  into 
the  snow  and  switched  until  their  first  poor  tears  are 
melted. 

Even  within  doors  ordinary  clothing  is  not  at  once  re- 
sumed. An  old  man  may  fold  a  blanket  about  him,  but 
the  heat  of  the  younger  men  scorns  even  this,  as  :hey  sit 
in  unconscious  nudity  and  eat  their  salmon  with  a  relish. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  women,  even  in  the  care  of  the 
youngest  of  their  own  sex — the  baby  women — guard  their 
persons  with  the  utmost  modesty. 

Half  a  dozen  brown  cupids,  with  dried  fish  in  their 
hands,  are  soon  deeply  engaged  in  one  of  the  many  games 
common  among  the  people — games  which  are  all  adapted 
to  the  cultivation  and  development  of  the  faculties.  T/iis 
is  a  memory  game;  scores  of  tiny  sticks,  split  from  the 
firewood  and  broken  into  equal  lengths,  are  placed  by  one 
boy,  while  the  others  hide  their  eyes,  in  a  row  of  groups, 
something  like  this:  II  HH  I  HI  IIIII  II  I  III  II 
IIIIII  I  IIII.  When  all  are  arranged,  the  boys,  at  a 
given  signal,  open  their  e)^es,  and  while  the  leader  counts 
perhai)6  ten  they  study  the  arrangement;  then,  at  another 
signal,  their  eyes  are  again  closed  while  each  boy  in  turn 
gives  his  count.  The  boy  who  first  gives  accurately  the 
number  of  groups  and  the  number  of  sticks  in  each  suc- 
cessive group  lays  the  sticks  for  the  next  play. 

The  little  girls  of  the  household  soon  have  a  rival  at- 
traction in  the  game  of  /la/i-goo  (Come  here).  They  have 
divided  their  number  into  two  parties,  stationing  them  in 
opposite  corners  of  the  room.     The  chief  of  the  leading 


204 


KIN-DA-SflON'S    WIFE: 


party  holds  aloft  a  bright-colored  rag  on  a  stick,  and 
waving  it  back  and  forth,  she  calls  the  name  of  one  of  the 
opposing  party.  Then  all  together  the  leading  party  give 
the  sing-song  invitation,  with  every  laughable  grimace 
and  contortion  of  feature  or  of  body,  with  pokings  of  the 
fingers,  and  with  side  remarks  calculated  to  upset  the  grav- 
ity of  a  judge. 

"  Hah-goo,  Kotzie!  Hah-goo,  Kotzie!  Hah-goo, 
Kotzie!  "  they  sing,  as  Kotzie,  responding  to  the  call,  ad- 
vances toward  the  banner,  which  she  is  allowed  to  carry 
back  in  triumph  for  the  use  of  her  own  party,  if  she  can 
approach  and  take  it  without  a  change  of  countenance  in 
the  face  of  all  the  monkey-shines  invented  by  the  banner 
party. 

High  runs  the  fun,  and  the  older  folk,  lying  back 
smoking,  look  on  and  enjoy  it  too,  ofte.i  throwing  in  a 
bit  of  their  own  gratis  to  both  parties. 

As  the  day  wears  on  Kin-da-shon  finds  it  hard  to  re- 
strain his  nervous  impatience.  To  employ  himself  more 
than  to  furnish  fresh  fish  for  supper,  he  takes  his  dark 
blanket  and  spear,  with  fish-eggs  inclosed  in  a  netting  of 
sinew  thread  for  bait,  and  proceeds  to  the  river. 

Finding  a  hole  of  perhaps  a  foot  and  a  half  in  diameter, 
he  lies  down  by  it  and  into  it  drops  his  net  of  fish-eggs, 
sinking  them  to  the  bottom  of  the  shallow  stream.  Then 
sending  his  spear  down  to  within  a  few  inches  of  this  safe 
bait,  he  covers  himself  and  the  hole  with  the  blanket,  and 
awaits  the  gathering  of  the  salmon  trout. 

They  begin  to  come  very  soon,  magnetized  by  the  lovely 
fish-eggs;  and  with  his  peculiar-shaped  spear  Kin-da- 
shon  takes  them  as  fast  as  it  can  be  lowered  and  raised. 

It  has  been  the  work  of  a  very  short  time  to  provide  fish 
enough  for  the  large  household,  and  while  they  are  being 
prepared  for  the  evening  meal  Kin-da-shon  takes  Uis  axe 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


205 


upon  his  shoulder  and  starts  out  for  wood,  taking  the  di- 
rection of  Kutwulhtoo. 

After  passing  the  point  nearest  by  the  trail  to  the  sacred 
place  of  the  medicine-men,  he  turns  to  the  left  toward  the 
mountain.  When  he  has  come  almost  to  the  ascent  he 
suddenly  turns  his  face  back  toward  his  own  village,  and 
with  caution,  that  there  may  be  neither  noise  nor  marks 
from  his  snow-shoes,  he  proceeds,  peering  right  and  left, 
in  search  of  Kunulkoo's  trap. 

He  has  reached  the  point  which  is  directly  in  line  from 
the  river,  back  through  the  images  of  the  Ichts,  and  yet  he 
has  discovered  no  trap.  He  stops  and  looks  keenly  toward 
the  mountain;  it  is  plainly  not  in  that  direction.  It  can- 
not be  nearer  Klok-won — it  w«x/ be  nearer  the  place  of 
offering  to  the  demons.  He  will  go  a  little  nearer;  he 
will  make  sure  of  its  whereabouts,  that  he  may  be  able  to 
come  in  the  dark  and  lose  neither  time  nor  himself.  In- 
voluntarily he  shudders.  What  may  he  not  encounter  in 
carrying  out  his  plan!  But  the  thought  of  Kasko  and  of 
Kah-sha— yes,  and  of  Tashekah !— nerves  him  to  the  effort. 
If  he  should  find  him,  what  rejoicing  the  little  sister 
would  have,  and  how  happy  he  should  be  to  have  his 
brother  once  again ! 

Deeply  engaged  with  his  inner  world,  Kin-da-shon  has 
moved  on  mechanically  in  the  direction  of  the  sacred 
images,  nor  has  he  noticed  whither  his  steps  are  lead- 
ing him,  until  suddenly  his  whole  being  is  shocked  and 
thrilled  by  the  sight  which  meets  his  startled  gaze. 

The  huge,  rough-hewn  images  are  almost  within  reach 
of  his  trembling  hand.  Before  them  is  the  nude  figure  of 
a  man,  writhing  as  in  unspeakable  torment.  The  back 
and  breast  and  limbs  of  the  man  are  stained  with  blood— 
the  snow  about  him  also  bears  evidence  of  his  suffering. 

As  I^in-da-shon  looks  on  in  dumb  amazement,  he  per- 


2o6 


A'IN-DA-SIWN' S    WIFE: 


ceives  that  by  self-wrought  gashes  in  the  flesh  the  devotee 
is  making  an  offering  of  his  own  blood,  with  cries  and 
prayers  brought  from  the  depths  of  an  agonized  soul. 

Only  love's  instinctive  power  could  recognize  in  this 
gaunt  and  blood-stained  creature  the  noble  and  handsome 
Kasko,  But  such  instinct  belonged  to  Kin-da-shon.  He 
sees  and  knows  the  youth  he  loves.  Wild,  hollow  eyes, 
from  which  the  light  of  reason  has  fled,  giving  place  to 
frenzy,  haggard  cheeks,  bony  arms,  and  hands  with  their 
talon-like  nails — the  long,  shaggy  mane — all  fail  to  dis- 
guise the  beloved  friend  who  dreams  of  no  approach. 

The  heart  of  Kin-da-shon  rushes  to  his  lips  tumultu- 
ously,  in  its  passage  turning  him  sick  and  giddy.  As  he 
grasps  at  the  nearest  tree  for  support  one  word  only  es- 
capes him: 

''Kasko!" 

As  though  smitten  from  heaven,  the  demented  youth  is 
arrested  in  his  work  of  self-destruction!  Wildly  he  gazes 
about  in  search  of  the  voice.  When  his  eyes  have  met 
those  of  Kin-da-shon,  with  a  wild  shriek  he  turns  and 
has  fled. 

But  Kin-da-shon's  effort  is  not  to  be  so  easily  frustrated. 
Dropping  his  axe,  he  pursues  the  maniac,  who,  through 
loss  of  blood  and  nervous  reaction,  falls  helpless  and  un- 
conscious before  he  has  scaled  half  the  height  of  rocky 
cliff  leading  to  his  covert. 

Already  the  early  winter  night  is  setting  in,  and  the 
house-fires  of  the  village  have  been  brightened  until 
great  volumes  of  ascending  stars  proceed  from  each  roof- 
hole,  as  Kin-da-shon,  bearing  on  his  back  his  living  but 
insentient  burden,  returns  to  his  father's  house. 

Few  questions  are  considered  necessary  by  the  family: 
they  know  that  Kin-da-shon  went  for  wood;  he  tells  them 
that  he  found  Kasko  helpless  and  bleeding  on  the  moun- 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


207 


tain;  it  is  natural  and  right  that  he  should  bring  him 
home. 

Kin-da-shon  insists  on  himself  tending  his  old-time 
friend.  With  his  own  blanket  he  has  carried  and  covered 
him  through  the  frosty  night,  and  with  it  he  now  shields 
him  from  too  close  scrutiny  on  the  part  of  others. 

When  the  house  is  still  and  asleep  he  cuts  close  the 
long,  tangled  hair  of  his  friend,  and  with  the  gentleness 
of  a  woman  bathes  the  body.  With  his  own  garments 
he  clothes  him  who  has  none,  and,  sitting  by  him,  watches 
for  the  return  of  Kasko's  self. 

It  is  not  until  the  first  faint  light  of  morning  begins  to 
greet  the  smoke,  which  Kin-da-shon  has  kept  going  up 
from  their  hearth  all  night,  that,  as  he  holds  Kasko's  hand 
and  bathes  his  forehead  and  lips  with  the  ball  of  snow  he 
has  freshly  brought,  the  quivering  eyelids  open  and  Kas- 
ko's true  self  looks  out  at  his  faithful  friend. 

**Kasko,"  Kin-da-shon  whispers,  "do  you  know  me, 
brother?" 

"  O  Kin-da-shon  I  "  And  the  great,  hungry,  hollow  eyes 
fill  with  tears,  the  poor  hand  trembles  in  its  loving  press- 
ure; then  in  utter  weariness  the  eyelids  fall.  Bits  of 
snow,  wet  in  a  cup  of  water,  Kin-da-shon  places  between 
the  lips  of  his  friend,  and  presently  the  eyelids  open  and 
the  dark  eyes  seek  again  the  faithful  face  bent  over  in 
anxious  attention  as  the  white  lips  move. 

"Why — did  you — Kin-da-shon?  I  wrestled — with — 
the  powers — of — darkness.  I  was  just — discovering — 
how — to — throw  them." 

"  No  need,  no  need,  Kasko  brother.  Your  dear  father 
has  found  a  better  way;  he  does  not  need  that  you  should 
overcome  the  demons  for  him  now." 

"  How  ?  What  do  you — say  ?  My  Jather  ?  What  does 
he — say  ? " 


208 


KIN.DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


"He  said  to  tell  you  that  he  is  well  now — that  he  had 
found  a  friend  stronger  than  all  evil.  He  is  safe  and 
well  now,  he  said." 

"  'Safe'  ?     '  Weir  ?     My  /rt/Z/^A-— is— safe  and— well  ? " 

"That  is  what  he  told  me  to  tell  you,  and  more  than 
that.  I  will  try  to  remember  it  all  when  you  get  more 
strength.     Rest  now,  Kasko. " 

A  heavenly  smile,  bringing  to  the  gaunt  face  more  than 
its  early  boyish  beauty,  has  touched  his  eyes  and  mouth. 

"Father,"  he  murmurs  again — "father — safe — a.\\6.weil! 
What  friend — was — so — strong?  Tell  me — now — Kin-da- 
shon." 

"  The  God  he  learned  about  at  Fort  Simpson,  Kasko — 
the  God  who  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his  only  son 
to  come  and  save  it.  He  found  your  father  and  took  him 
home  to  make  him  well." 

"  Where  ?     Where  ? " 

"To  the  blessed  country,  up  above." 

"  Can — /  go  ?  Do — you — know  how  ?  Is — the  door — 
open?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Kin-da-shon  makes  answer  sadly; 
then,  struck  with  a  sudden  faint  recollection,  he  adds: 

"Stop!  It  comes  likes  a  dream;  but  I'm  sure  I  heard 
the  teacher  say,  if  one  knocks  the  door  will  open." 

"  The  dioor— where— is  it  ? " 

"I — I  don't  know.  I  wish  I  had  listened  better.  I 
was  a  happy  boy,  and  I  was  thinking  of — a  little  singing 
bird.  I  didn't  seem  to  need  anything  else — and  I  didn't 
understand  very  well." 

"  ^M\.— God— loved " 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know  the  very  words  he  said  about  that, 
for  your  father  said  them  over  till  we  both  had  them  in 
our  hearts.  '  God  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his 
only  Son.*  " 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY, 


209 


"  He — came — to  ssi\t— father  ?  " 

"  Yes;  your  father  was  very  happy  when  he  told  me  so." 

"  He — came  with — God's — /ove — to — save — me  tooV 

"That's  just  what  your  father  wanted  me  to  tell  you, 
and  I  couldn't  bring  back  the  words." 

One  poor,  thin  hand  is  lifted  toward  the  pale  stars  shin- 
ing down  the  smoky  way;  the  deep,  dark  eyes,  lustrous 
with  new  depths  of  spirit-beauty,  are  raised  to  heights  be- 
yond, while  from  the  already  death-chilled  lips  Kin-da- 
shon  catches  the  low-breathed  prayer: 

"  God — love — save — me  too. " 

Slowly  sinking  drops  the  cold  hand  to  his  breast.  The 
look  of  peace  grows  deeper. 

Kasko,  the  loving,  is  with  the  Father — beloved. 
14 


3IO 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


!;    I 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

KIN-DA-SHON's    son THE    RESCUE AT    YHIN-DA-STACHY 

TO   THE    YUKON. 

A  NOTHER  summer  has  come  and  gone.  It  is  a 
■^^  forbidding  early  November  day.  Gray  clouds  go 
scurrying  across  the  low,  leaden  sky,  jostling  from  each 
other  great  showers  which  angry  winds  carry  spitefully 
and  dash  in  cutting  sleet  upon  the  earth. 

From  the  woods  some  distance  back  of  Klok-won  Kin- 
da-shon  is  bringing  on  his  back  a  huge  bundle  of  green 
hemlock  boughs  and  trailing  behind  him  over  the  snow 
a  lot  of  light  poles,  which,  with  the  help  of  one  of  the 
older  women  of  his  father's  household,  he  is  soon  forming 
into  a  booth,  or  place  of  retreat,  for  Kotch-kul-ah,  his 
wife. 

As  he  works  thus,  under  the  stinging  sleet,  his  heart 
yearns  over  her  who  is  so  soon  to  be  banished  in  her  suffer- 
ing to  this  frail  shelter,  and  he  strengthens  anew  the  poles 
he  has  set  and  weaves  more  closely  the  boughs  of  hem- 
lock. 

A  few  hours  later,  from  this  same  booth,  mingling  with 
the  shrill  voice  of  the  winter  wind,  comes  the  first  cry  of 
a  new  creature — a  little  Kin-da-sbon,  awakening  in  the 
mother-heart  an  ecstatic  response. 

After  being  anointed  with  oil  and  wrapped  in  dry 
moss  and  pieces  of  blanket,  the  child  is  tied  snugly  into 
its  basket  and  carried  into  the  house  for  presentation  to 
its  father  and  relatives. 

When,  after  ten  days  of  exile,  the  young  mother  rejoins 


k 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


311 


dry 
into 
n  to 


301 


ns 


the  family,   Kin-da-shon  settles  down  to  an   increasing 
peace  and  quiet  joy  in  his  new  possession. 

As  the  months  go  by  and  little  Kah-hlid-zeen  (strong 
man),  as  the  child  is  called,  grows  in  strength  and  stature 
and  develops  intelligence,  his  many  bright  and  winning 
ways  draw  more  and  more  the  father's  heart,  until  at 
length  regret  is  swallowed  up — father-love  consumes  old 
emotions  and  heals  old  sorrows. 

His  boy  is  the  joy  and  pride  of  Kin-da-shon's  heart,  and 
by  reason  of  the  child  the  mother  grows  more  dear. 

When  Kah-hlid-zeen  is  a  year  and  a  half  old  he  has 
learned  to  let  the  arrow  fly  while  his  father  holds  the 
bow,  and  toddling  across  the  house  brings  it  again  to 
his  father's  knee. 

On  their  canoe  trips  for  berries  and  game  he  dips  his 
toy  paddle,  trying  to  keep  the  time  of  his  father's  stroke. 
At  their  feasts  his  little  round  head  is  dressed  in  highly 
fantastic  fashion,  and,  filled  with  the  spirit  of  the  occa- 
sion, his  little  body  sways  in  perfect  rhythm  of  movement 
to  the  songs  of  his  people.  Often,  too,  with  his  father's 
bow  on  his  shoulder  and  his  father's  snow-shoes  on  his 
tiny  moccasined  feet,  he  struts  about  on  mimic  hunting- 
grounds — often  falling,  but  never  crying  at  such  disaster. 

Little  Kah-hlid-zeen's  second  spring  has  come.  Not 
yet  has  the  ice  broken  on  the  slow-flowing  river,  nor  have 
the  snow  depths  on  the  mountains  softened.  The  last 
trading  party  of  the  season  is  setting  out  for  the  interior — 
Kin-da-shon  in  higher  spirits  than  have  ever  possessed 
him  on  such  occasions  since  his  first  trip  in  the  long  ago, 
when  his  heart  was  young  and  hope  was  high. 

As  he  fondles  his  boy,  while  Kotch-kul-ah  adds  a  last 
touch  to  some  handiwork  of  her  own  and  places  it  with 
his  pack  of  articles  for  trade,  tender  recollections  fill  his 
heart  of  that  other   setting  out,  and  he  turns  with  glad- 


313 


JCIN-DA-S/fON'S    WIFE: 


ness  to  this  new  happiness  which  has  taken  the  place  of 
what  he  had  hoped  for. 

"  Kotch-kul-ah,  you  are  a  good  wife,"  he  says,  as  he 
puts  the  boy  into  her  arms;  **  keep  the  child  safe." 

And  with  that  he  joins  his  party,  who  are  already  in 
their  canoes  impatiently  awaiting  him. 

Their  route  is  the  same  as  on  that  first  trip  which  he 
has  been  thinking  of,  when  he  brought  the  beaded  pouch 
for  little  Tashekah.  It  is  the  first  time  he  has  made  the 
trip  since  then,  having  in  the  intervening  seasons  gone  in 
from  Klok-won  to  the  westward. 

Their  boat  glides  down  the  rapids  to  Yhin-da-stachy, 
which  he  has  not  visited  since  his  unhappy  return  from 
Fort  Simpson.  He  has  ever  shrunk  from  doing  so,  but 
now  he  is  looking  forward  with  calmness  to  a  meeting 
with  those  who  once  shook  his  heart. 

Having  made  an  early  start  from  Klok-won,  in  order  to 
reach  the  head  of  Dy-ya  inlet  before  night — a  distance  of 
fifty  miles — there  is  to  be  no  unnecessary  delay  at  Yhin- 
da-stachy,  for  though  the  greater  part  of  the  distance  is 
accomplished  with  so  much  ease,  the  portage  of  canoes 
and  goods  across  the  peninsula  is  tedious  and  heavy;  and 
then,  should  head  v.-inds  be  encountered,  the  remaining 
twenty  miles  will  be  long. 

Making  the  last  turn  in  the  rapids  and  coming  out 
against  the  full  tide,  Uuy  find  a  high  wind  lashing  the 
waters  to  a  foam.  So  suddenly  does  it  strike  their  boats, 
demanding  attention  and  skill,  that  it  is  a  moment  be- 
fore they  discover  a  canoe  in  advance  of  their  own  party. 
It  is  heavily  laden  with  wood  and  manned  by  two  small 
boys.  Even  in  a  calm,  the  water  must  have  been  within 
three  or  four  inches  of  the  canoe's  edge. 

The  little  fellows  have  evidently  expected  to  drive  in, 
for  their  sheet  is  spread  to  the  full,  and  even  as  the  men 


n 
o 
g 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


213 


catch  sight  of  it  the  little  craft  is  whipped  over  and  its 
burden  turned  into  the  sea. 

The  men  themselves  arc  but  holding  their  own  against 
the  elements.  The  icy  spray  cuts  like  knives  as  it  strikes 
their  faces.  Several  attempts  are  made  at  landing  before 
they  finally  succeed  in  getting  ashore.  As  soon  as  they 
have  done  so  they  turn  to  look  for  the  unfortunate  chil- 
dren, whose  empty  boat  has  now  been  flung  ashore  with 
the  roaring  waves,  and,  with  their  breaking,  broken.  A 
few  pieces  of  the  wood  are  still  being  dashed  about,  and 
on  one  of  these  short  logs  the  men  descry  two  small  hands 
clinging. 

With  the  directness  of  an  arrow  Kin-da-shon  has  shot 
under  the  breaker,  and  with  swift,  strong  strokes,  timed 
to  the  waves,  soon  reaches  the  child,  whose  hands  seem 
frozen  to  the  log's  rough  bark — scarcely  conscious  of 
either  his  danger  or  his  rescue. 

His  hands  are  loosened  and  his  sturdy  little  body  is 
thrown  astride  the  log;  then,  holding  and  pushing  before 
him  his  buoyant  burden,  Kin-da-shon  seeks  a  landing 
further  down  among  the  mud  flats,  and  succeeds  in 
getting  ashore  with  few  bruises  either  to  himself  or  the 
boy. 

It  is  Kunz ;  a  good  deal  shaken  up,  but  he  soon  gets 
upon  his  feet  and  shares  the  anxiety  of  the  now  aroused 
village  in  regard  to  the  fate  of  his  companion.  It  was 
Chan-ka,  nephew  of  Yealh-neddy,  that  was  with  him; 
and  Yealh-neddy  at  this  moment  is  lying  within  his  wife's 
house,  heavy  with  drunken  sleep,  a  result  of  last  night's 
feast,  for  which  he  had  provided  several  boxes  of  hoots-a- 
noo  of  his  own  manufacture.  Now,  after  several  hours 
of  wild  excitement,  he  and  many  others  are  lying  in  dis- 
gusting stupefaction. 

Already  among  those  who  have  gathered  on  the  beach 


214 


JCIN-.DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


is  heard  the  sound  of  wailing  for  the  dead;  but  it  is  not 
such  as  is  made  for  those  who  die  on  shore. 

There  is  no  death  so  held  in  terror  by  the  Kling-gets  as 
that  by  drowning — doomed  as  they  believe  such  a  soul  is 
to  eternal  wandering  in  cold  and  pain,  ever  and  vainly 
seeking  rest. 

The  shrieks  and  the  groans  of  the  women  are  heard 
high  above  the  thundering  of  the  waters,  which  are  dash- 
ing and  breaking  on  the  shore. 

Some  of  the  men  have  gone  to  look  at  the  boat.  As 
they  turn  over  its  ruined,  broken  hull  they  find  the  sail- 
sticks  wedged  inco  it  and  the  sail  curiously  wrapped  and 
caught  between  them. 

Stop!  There  is  something  within.  Can  it  be  one  of  the 
logs?  With  haste  they  disentangle  it,  and — their  shout  is 
only  unheard  by  the  mourners  because  of  their  own  shriller 
noises!  But  they  are  silenced  when  the  men  have  taken 
up  the  body  and  start  across  to  one  of  the  dwellings. 

It  ib  indeed  Chan-ka!  And  now  great  is  the  regret  that 
Ka-kee  is  not  at  home.  The  medicine-man  has  gone  to 
Chilkoot,  and  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  do,  without 
the  medicine-spirit,  what  they  can  to  restore  the  breath  of 
the  drowned  boy. 

Such  women  as  Usha-shawet  are  speedily  at  work,  and 
before  Kin-da-shon  and  his  party  hav^e  refreshed  them- 
selves with  food  and  made  dry  their  clothing  by  the  hos- 
pitable village  fires,  the  boy  is  breathing  and  conscious, 
causing  great  talk  and  rejoicing  among  the  people. 

Kunz  has  restored  lumself  to  his  household,  of  which, 
in  his  father's  absence,  he  has  felt  himself  the  guardian 
and  provider. 

Sa-allie  has  gone  herself  and  brought  Kin-da-shon  to 
their  own  fire,  setting  before  him  the  hearty  breakfast 
which  she  had  kept  warm  for  Kunz. 


str; 
inj 
hisi 
real 

Hal 
of 

h\i 
witJ 
I 

nesj 

owe 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


215 


,  and 
them- 
le  hos- 
iscious, 


While  he  sits  eating  it  she  holds  his  clothing  and  dries 
it  about  the  leaping  flames. 

At  one  corner  of  the  hearth,  on  a  little  feather-bed, 
is  the  once  chubby  Ch-one.  So  greatly  has  his  body 
shrunken  that  the  head  seems  to  have  doubled  its  size, 
though  the  ears  and  nose  are  small  and  pinched  and  the 
mouth  is  sadly  drawn.  The  eyes,  however,  are  unnatu- 
rally large  and  bright,  with  a  world  of  woe  and  appeal  in 
them. 

For  a  long  time  he  sits  in  perfect  silence,  looking  on 
with  expression  so  wise  and  grave  that  at  length  his 
mother,  with  a  silent  gesture,  calls  Kin-da-shon's  atten- 
tion. 

"He  is  always  just  like  that,"  she  says,  in  muffled 
tones. 

"Does  he  walk?"  Kin-da-shon  asks. 

"No:  see!"  And  Sa-allie  draws  out  the  little  shriv- 
elled legs,  crooked  from  long  doubling  under  him. 

"  He  has  never  stood  on  them  since  that  dreadful  night. 
All  his  life  is  in  his  head.  You  can  see  that  he  knows 
things  that  other  people  never  think.  He  will  never  grow 
again,  unless  we  find  that  witch." 

At  this  the  child  lifts  his  wonderful  eyes,  with  their 
strange  light  and  darkness — their  indefinable  and  haunt- 
ing expression — to  the  face  of  Kin-da-shon,  striking  into 
his  superstitious  soul  a  terror  that  he  dares  not  face — a 
realization  of  his  own  share  in  this  child's  blighted  life. 
Has  he  not  for  more  than  two  years  known  the  hiding-place 
of  this  spirit  of  evil,  and  still  has  kept  it  hidden?  What 
is  he  likely  to  get  for  his  kindness  to  her?  What  can  a 
witch  give  but  evil  ? 

In  vain  his  heart  tells  him  that  it  is  Usha's  own  kind- 
ness which  is  being  repaid  by  his  silence;  that  to  her  he 
owes  his  own  life,  and  Kotch-kul-ah's   also;  and  more 


2l6 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


than  that,  if  his  own  and  Kotch-kul-ah's,  their  little 
Kah-hlid-zeen's  life  as  well. 

His  child!  his  son!  Oh,  what  if — and  again  his  eyes 
are  fixed  in  horror  on  the  child  before  him,  who  is  still 
gazing  into  his  face — what  if  such  a  thing  as  this  should 
be  visited  on  his  own!  And  the  strong  man  quails  before 
the  suggestion. 

"Tashekah!" 

The  boy  has  turned  to  his  mother,  with  this  single 
word,  in  which  he  both  beseeches  and  demands. 

"Where  /"■$■  Tashekah?"  Kin-da-shon  asks,  glad  of  '*ve 
distraction. 

"She  is  gone  to  Chilkoot,  with  her  husband.'' 

With  a  half-felt  shock  the  words  strike  the  heart  of  the 
man.  Her  husband — his  little Tashekah's  husband!  But 
what  is  he  thinking  of?  Surely  the  witches  are  beginning 
their  work  on  him.  He  must  get  away;  and  hastily  put- 
ting aside  what  is  left  of  his  breakfast,  he  prepares  at 
once  for  his  journey. 

At  this  moment  Kunz,  who  appears  but  little  the  worse 
for  his  morning's  experience,  enters  the  house  with  a  mes- 
sage from  the  rron,  who  are  ready  and  anxious  to  start. 

"  And,  mother,  the  people  that  came  from  Stickeen  last 
night  say  that  a  trader — a  white  man — is  coming  to  live 
in  the  Chilkat  country!  " 

"A  white  man — coming  to  live  in  the  Chilkat  country! 
When  ? " 

"At  the  end  of  summer — this  next  one." 

"Worse  and  v/orse!  "  and  the  mother's  face  shows  dis- 
tress and  vexation. 

Kin-da-shon's  movements  slacken  as  he  listens. 

'Why  is  it  worse,  mother?  Is  it  not  good  to  sell  skins 
and  buy  white  man's  things  here  instead  of  going  away  to 
Fort  Simpson  ? " 


da- 
whi 
anc 
dil 

hac 

ii 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


217 


intry! 


dis- 


ll  skins 
Iway  to 


**  Hush!  You  know  nothing  about  the  white  man.  Do 
you  think  he's  coming  here  to  make  us  rich?  Neh!  if 
Sa-allie  knows  anything  he  will  bring  us  plenty  of 
trouble." 

"Well,  I  can't  see  what  trouble  there  is  in  having  every- 
thing the  white  men  have.  Why,  I  know  I  could  get 
skins  enough  myself  to  buy  a  gun,  and  then  just  think  what 
I  could  do!" 

"Hush,  I  tell  you!  Think  what  you  could  do  thenl 
Yes,  it's  easy  enough  to  think  of  that.  If  you  should  try 
half  as  hard,  maybe  you  could  think  of  what  Goosh-ta- 
hcen  did  with  his  gun  last  winter  when  he  killed  his  wife, 
and  of  all  the  trouble  there's  been  between  the  tribes  ever 
since!  " 

"But  he  was  drunk,  mother;  he  was  crazy  with  hoots- 
a-noo.     /  would " 

"Drunk!  crazy  with  hoots-a-noo,  was  he?  Well,  how' 
did  he  come  to  have  hoots-a-noo  ?  Did  the  Chilkats  get  it 
from  the  devil  ?  You  silly  boy!  didn't  you  know  that 
the  white  man  taught  the  Kling-get  people  to  make  that 
blood-of-witches  to  kill  themselves,  and  now  sells  them 
f^uns  to  help  them  do  it  quicker?  *  Devils?'  Yes,  they 
a"e  devils  in  white  skins.  I  want  to  see  none  of  them  in 
'Irs  country." 

"But  not  all  are  like  that,  Sa-allie,"  now  puts  in  Kin- 
da-fehon,  rising  under  his  slov  ly  adjusted  load.  "  I  saw  a 
white  man  in  Fort  Simpson  who  never  mude  hoots-a-noo, 
and  he  sold  no  guns.  He  was  there  to  teach  the  people  very 
different  things — things  to  do  them  good  and  make  them 
glad — and  he  didn't  do  it  to  get  rich,  either.  I  wish  we 
had  one  of  that  kind  here!  " 

"Well,  /  don't!  And  it  would  take  a  good  deal  to 
make  me  believe  there  is  such  a  white  man.  What  does 
he  know  that  we  need  to  learn,  anyway?     Don't  we  know 


2l8 


A-IN-jjA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


enough  to  eat  and  keep  warm?  And  is  there  anymore 
we  could  do  if  we  knew  never  so  much  ? " 

"What  if  he  could  teach  us  how  to  kill  witches,  and 
how  to  be  full  and  happy  after  we  are  done  living  here 7'' 

"  What  do  devils  know  about  that  ? " 

"More  than  we  do,  likely.  But  the  men  who  teach 
these  things  are  not  devils — at  least,  they  say  that  being 
drunk  and  killing  people  are  bad  things;  and  they  make 
the  men  i  i  "  that  do  their  way.  But  my  brothers  will 
be  half-wa^  jr  the  trail — and  that  without  any  good 
thoughts  of  me.     I  will  hasten!  " 

Kunz  springs  to  open  the  door  for  his  friend.  Kin-da- 
shon  has  taken  two  or  three  long  strides,  v/hen,  with  a 
thought,  he  suddenly  turns  and  puts  his  head  in  at  the 
door  again  just  long  enough  to  say: 

"  When  ^ve  were  at  Fort  Simpson,  two  years  ago,  we 
asked  them  to  send  a  teacher  to  Chilkat.  Maybe  that  is 
who  is  coming,  Sa-allie." 

He  is  gone  without  v.'aiting  to  hear  her  contemptuous 
grunt. 

"If  it  is,  what  will  he  teach,  mother?" 

"Nothing — that  I  want  j'(9«  to  learn,"  she  shortly  an- 
swers Kunz,  and  then  turns  with  more  tenderness  to  wipe 
Ch-one's  wondering  face. 

Silently  and  persistently  longing  to  see  the  white  man 
— of  whatever  nature  he  maybe — Kunz  turns  his  attention 
to  the  rebuilding  of  the  fire  and  getting  himself  something 
to  eat. 

When  Yealh-neddy  awakes  from  his  drunken  sleep  it 
is  with  his  natural  love  of  evil  intensified  and  with  a 
beastly  desire  to  hurt  and  destroy.  One  cf  his  first  sensa- 
tions is  that  of  cold;  his  head  seems  filled  with  fire,  but 
his  body  is  cold — shivering.  He  looks  around  him;  be 
is  alone;  the  fire  is  all  but  out. 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


219 


eep  It 
with  a 
sensa- 
ire,  but 
lim;  be 


*'  Devils !  "  he  mutters ;  "  they  would  like  me  to  freeze !  " 

The  feeble,  wailing  cry  of  a  babe  is  heard  as  the  door 
opens,  and  the  thin,  bent  form  of  a  woman  comes  into  the 
room,  the  babe  in  her  arms,  and  on  her  back  a  great 
bundle  of  beach-gathered  wood. 

As  she  sets  her  baby's  basket-board,  into  which  the 
child  is  securely  bound,  against  the  wall,  she  loosens  the 
leathern  strap  about  her  shoulders,  and,  stooping,  drops 
the  wood  beside  the  hearth. 

"  Lazy  dog!  "  curses  Yealh-neddy  from  his  place  on  the 
other  side;  "you  tried  to  kill  me,  did  you?" 

There  is  no  answer  frohi  '^.e  woman.  She  is  blowing 
the  half-dead  coals  under  a  handful  of  dry  moss. 

"Answer  me,  slave!"  yells  Yealh-neddy,  half-raising 
himself  in  his  rage. 

For  one  instant  the  woman  lifts  her  face — such  a  wan, 
wrinkled,  yet  strangely  young  face,  to  that  of  her  lord 
and  master. 

"I  have  not  tried  to  kill  you."  Then  the  blowing  is 
quietly  resumed,  but  the  poor,  bony  hands  are  shaking. 

"Vile  creature,  you  lie!  Why  else  did  you  let  this  fire 
go  out  and  fill  the  house  with  the  breath  of  icebergs? 
Speak !  " 

"  My  baby  was  sick.  I  nursed  it  and  went  to  sleep 
when  it  did,"  she  answers,  with  hard  patience. 

"Baby!  sick!  sleep,  did  you?"  shrieks  the  man,  wild 
with  passion.  "I'll  teach  you  to  nurse  the  brat  and 
sleep!"  and  almost  with  a  single  bound  he  seizes  the  child 
and  flings  it  past  her  into  the  now  blazing  fire. 

Out  of  the  flames  she  snatches  it,  and  springing  over 
them  herself  she  stands  facing  the  fellow,  with  such  light 
burning  in  her  eyes  as  now  for  the  first  time  makes  it  pos- 
sible to  recognize  Sha-hehe. 

"Yealh-neddy,"   she   says,    in   a   tone   that   has  long 


230 


KIN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


seemed  gone  with  all  her  youth  and  fire — "  Yealh-neddy, 
did  I  ask  you  for  this  child?  Is  it  the  fault  of  Sha-hehe 
that  its  sickly  cries  disturb  your  peace?  Treat  me  as 
you  do — worse  than  the  dog  you  kick  in  its  mothering ;  but 
this  child  is  of  your  own  flesh  and  blood.  Be  careful 
what  you  do." 

Confounded  as  he  is  for  an  instant  by  her  now  infre- 
quent resistance,  she  gains  the  door  just  in  time  to  escape 
his  cruel  hands;  and  he  will  not  follow  his  slave  through 
the  village,  but  stretches  himself  out  by  the  comfortable 
fire. 

Here  Kah-de-guah  finds  him  when  she  comes  from  gos- 
siping over  the  morning's  occurrences,  ready  to  take  her 
in  hand  because  hot  food  is  not  aw.iting  him. 

"Where  have  you  been,  woman?"  he  asks  of  his  wife, 
not  without  a  shade  of — not  respect,  surely,  but  speaking 
not  as  he  spoke  to  Sha-hehe. 

"  Do  you  speak  to  me,  my  husband  ? "  asks  Kah-da- 
guah,  with  the  most  exasperating  coolness,  which  she 
knows  he  will  not  dare  to  resent.  "  I  was  getting  news  to 
please  you.  A  company  of  Klok-won  traders  have  just 
crossed  the  trail." 

"What's  that  to  me,  old  fool?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  little  bird,  nothing  to  you.  Kin-da-shon 
was  one  of  them. " 

"  What's  that  you  say?" 

She  is  playing  with  the  silver  bracelets  which  cover  her 
fat  arms  nearly  to  the  elbows;  she  does  not  hear  his  ques- 
tion. 

"  Kin-da-shon,  did  you  say  ?  "  he  asks  again,  a  little  less 
uncivilly. 

"  Kin-da-shon  ?  No,  I  do  not  say  Kin-da-shon.  Why 
should  I  say  Kin-da-shon?"  and   shp  dra^vs  ort  ?  biskef 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


221 


of  such  odds  and  ends  as,  with  Kling-get  women,  stand 
for  an  old  lace  bag  or  a  trinket  box. 

Since  Yealh-neddy  has  become  an  adept  in  distilling, 
hoots-a-noo  is  much  oftener  to  be  had  than  ever  before  in 
the  Chilkat  country ;  and  through  the  quarrels  and  inju- 
ries, imagined  and  real,  consequent  upon  its  use,  there 
have  come  to  be  such  heart-burnings  and  jealousies  and 
desires  of  revenge  as  threaten  to  bring  the  tribes  to  war. 

Among  the  many  hatreds  which  Yealh-neddy  himself 
has  nursed  none  is  greater  than  that  of  Kotch-kul-ah;  and 
ever  since  he  heard  of  her  marriage  to  Kin-da-shon  he  has 
but  awaited  the  opportunity  of  accomplishing  a  revenge 
worthy  his  passion.  The  determination  to  have  such  re- 
venge has  but  grown  and  strengthened  in  the  dark.  It 
has  been  with  an  understanding  of  her  husband's  interest 
that  Kah-da-guah  introduced  the  subject  of  Kin-da-shon's 
presence  in  Yhin-da-stachy. 

Knowing  that  further  questioning  is  useless  with  his 
independent  spouse,  Yealh-neddy  begins  to  growl  for  his 
breakfast. 

"Is  there  nothing  to  eat  in  this  house?" 

"Oh,  yes;  plenty,  I  think.  What  was  it  you  took  in 
the  hunt  yesterday — a  mountain  sheep  ?  And  last  night — 
was  it  a  bear?     Yes:  there  is  plenty,  I  should  say." 

"Call  Sha-hehe  to  get  me  some  dried  fish,"  he  says, 
half -cowed  by  her  easy  sarcasm. 

But  he  knows  that  Kin-da-shon  has  gone  to  the  land  of 
the  Gun-un-uh  and  that  he  cannot  return  for  a  month — six 
weeks,  it  may  be.  In  the  mean  time  Kotch-kul-ah  is  at 
Klok-won,  without  her  husband. 

His  time  has  come:  if  he  fails  to  use  it  he  is  not  the 
son  of  Yealh  that  he  knows  himself. 


2^2 


KIN-DA-SUON" S   WIPE: 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE    VOUNG    MOTHER — YEALII-NEDDY's   PLOT. 

"  TSH,  ish,  my  dear  ish — say  it,  my  baby;  you  must  say 
it  before  ish  comes  again.  See  my  lips — now  try  it 
again,"  and  at  his  lisping  she  takes  him  into  her  bosom 
with  passionate  love. 

"  My  little  Kin-da-shon!  my  baby!  my  Kah-hlid-zeen!" 

Many  an  hour  is  spent  thus  by  Kotch-kul-ah  with  her 
baby,  until  the  thrifty  mother  almost  loses  patience  with 
her  son's  wife,  and  asks  if  love  will  keep  them  warm  next 
winter  or  feed  them. 

*' It  will  go  more  than  half-way,  good  mother,"  the  girl 
answers,  with  a  bright  laugh,  in  which  is  no  trace  of  fear 
or  care.  And  she  tosses  her  baby  over  her  shoulder, 
where  he  holds  to  her  hair  in  a  glee,  and  drives  as  she 
goes  about  her  wool-dyeing  and  the  dressing  of  skins. 

"  It  is  not  you,  my  dear — my  little  one,  my  baby  man — 
not  you,  nor  me,  but  ish,  yours  and  mine,  Kin-da-shon; 
not  the  little  but  the  great;  he  is  our  dear  one,  he  is  the 
one  we  are  foolish  about.  Tell  the  good  grandmother;  it 
shall  not  shame  me.  Tell  her,  baby;  say  it — ish,  ah, 
ish." 

Toward  the  grandmother's  corner,  where  she  sits  at  her 
loom,  turns  the  laughing,  chubby  face  of  the  child  as  ho 
says  it. 

"Iss,  ah,  iss,"  and  his  reward  is  the  mother's  dance  all 
around  the  fireplace  before  they  begin  work  again. 

"Another  seven  days  and  the  moon  will  be  as  great  as 
it  was  when  he  started;  we  will   begin  to   look   for  him 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


223 


she 


;at  as 


then,"  Kotch-kul-ah  says.  "It  will  not  be  too  soon,  will 
it,  Shans-ga-gate-ish  ?" 

"Not  a  day  too  soon,"  is  his  answer.  Then  in  a  tone 
too  low  for  her  ear  he  adds:  "I  like  not  these  spring 
trips." 

"Canoe  coming!  Canoe  coming!"  rings  through  the 
village,  and  soon,  in  common  interest,  all  turn  out  to  see 
the  arrival  and  hear  the  news. 

A  number  of  guesses  are  made  before  the  identity  of 
the  new-comers  is  decided. 

The  person  first  recognized  is  Yealh-neddy.  Before 
his  name  is  spoken  Kotch-kul-ah  has  turned  pale  and  gath- 
ers her  toddling  boy  back  into  her  arms,  as  if  to  shield 
him  from  some  hurt.  But  already  the  native  boy  traits 
are  showing;  his  eye  cannot  be  turned  from  the  approach- 
ing canoe,  and  he  struggles  to  free  himself  from  his 
mother's  unconsciously  tightening  grasp. 

At  her  side  is  Sha-ga-uk,  who  laughs  at  the  contest 
and  says: 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  keep  him  always  in  your  bosom, 
foolish  girl?" 

"I  will  not  want  to — when  he  can  have  his  father's 
hand — but — oh,  I  wish  that  man's  bones  were  in  his  box!  " 

"  Let  no  other  ear  hear  that.  Kotch-kul-ah,  you  are 
daring  the  devil  to  think  it." 

"I  know  it — they  are  such  friends!  But  ah  clah,  Sha- 
ga-uk,  must  he  stay  in  your  house?" 

"  If  he  is  so  pleased.     You  know  he  must." 

"  Then  he  will  please  to,  be  sure  of  that!  What  can  we 
do,  baby?"  she  cries,  catching  up  the  child  in  a  torment 
of  apprehension. 

"You  are  foolish,  Kotch-kul-ah.  What  can  he  do? 
What  do  you  suppose  he  wants  to  do?  It's  coming  three 
years  now  that  you've  been  safely  Kin-da-shon's  wife." 


324 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


"Will  a  lynx  spring  while  his  prey  is  in  its  hole?" 

"  I  do  not  see  your  heart.  Is  not  this  house  your  strong 
place?" 

"  No — no — ah  clah !  "  now  half-sobs  the  girl,  "  You  are 
good  to  me;  but — with  Kin-da-shon  away  I  am  out  of 
doors;  it  is  night,  and  my  eyes  are  not  as  the  eyes  of  the 
lynx." 

Already  Yealh-neddy's  goods  are  being  carried  into 
the  house  of  Shans-ga-gate;  his  intentions  are  thus  far 
evident. 

The  Kling-get  manner  of  coming  and  going  on  ordi- 
nary occasions,  without  salutation  or  farewell,  spares 
often  much  embarrassment,  and  several  days  thus  pass 
without  a  word  between  Kotch-kul-ah  and  Yealh-neddy. 

But  the  child — with  that  strong  contrariety  which 
mothers  refuse  to  acknowledge  but  continually  encounter 
in  their  little  ones,  whose  pure  instincts,  they  say,  lead 
them  unerringly  to  trust  only  the  noble  and  love  the  good 
— has  made  immediate  friendship  with  the  man;  and  he, 
to  whom  children  are  all  brats  and  love  is  a  thing  un- 
known, has  yet  been  pleased  by  the  child's  preference, 
and  has  even  begun  to  see  how  it  may  be  utilized  against 
the  woman  he  hates. 

With  displeasure  and  dismay  Kotch-kul-ah  has  seen  her 
boy  worry  out  of  her  own  arms  and  go,  with  the  certainty 
of  a  spark  flying  upward,  to  the  man  of  evil.  With  much 
ingenuity  and  with  unremitting  endeavor  she  has  done  what 
she  could  to  keep  the  child  from  him,  yet  with  an  intui- 
tion which  makes  her  fear  to  have  her  intention  suspected. 

A  day  comes  when  she  is  worn  out  with  bootless  effort, 
and  in  nervous  desperation  she  takes  up  her  baby  into 
the  blanket  on  her  back,  saying: 

"  I  am  going  to  Kutwulhtoo,  ah  clah  Sha-ga-uk,  to 
take  the  moccasins  I  have  finished  for  the  old  chief." 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


225 


"You  will  come  again  to-day?" 

"Yes — no:  I  cannot  tell.  Have  no  trouble  about  me  if 
I  stay.  I  wish  to  weave  a  basket  pattern  of  Yah-doos- 
kah's." 

She  is  half-way  to  the  neighboring  village — entirely 
out  of  sight  and  sound  of  Klok-won — before  she  stays  her 
hurried  steps  a  moment  to  rest. 

The  resting-place  she  chooses  is  a  gnarled,  moss-grown 
tree,  hanging  low  and  heavy  branches  out  over  the  river: 
into  these  she  creeps,  her  "man  little  one"  still  on  her 
back. 

When  she  has  settled  herself  into  the  great  mossy  arms 
she  takes  baby  into  her  own,  to  have  and  to  hold  him  with- 
out let  or  hindrance. 

With  a  pout  on  his  lip,  which  makes  it  lift  the  ring  in 
his  little  pug  nose,  he  takes  his  now  freed  stub  toes  into 
his  small,  indignant  hands,  saying: 

''Man—ivalkr 

"Yes;  man  walk,"  laughs  his  delighted  mother.  "We 
will  tell  it  to  ish  when  he  comes;  he  will  say 'man  walk,' 
too,"  and  she  covers  him  with  kisses.  All  her  fears  are 
put  aside.  He  is  her  own  and  Kin-da-shon  is  her  own. 
She  will  be  happy  to-day — as  free  and  happy  as  the  birds 
— as  happy  as  she  was  before  Yealh-neddy  came. 

Higher  up  on  the  crotch  of  a  lighter  bough  she  puts  her 
boy,  and  there,  holding  him  by  his  little  leathern  shirt, 
she  swings  him  free  as  air  until  his  glee  doubles  ...:.  own 
joy. 

"  Look,  Kin-da-shon,  child,"  she  says,  now  holding  him 
over  where  he  can  see  the  spotted  trout  down  in  the 
sparkling,  rushing  water;  "see  the  pretty  fish  with  the 
bead  flowers  on  their  shirts.  Some  day  will  '  man  walk,' 
and  take  the  fish  for  mother.  He  shall  have  a  spear,  just 
the  same  as  ish,  and  he  shall  take — come!  let  us  count 
IS 


226 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


them  on  your  fingers — klakt\  lif/i,  niisk^  dok-won^  ke-jin; 
now  the  other  hand — kla-(///-sha,  deh  a-du-sha,  nusk-kla- 
du-sha,  goosh-ook,  jin-kaht;  yes,  he  shall  take  ten — the 
hands  of  a  man,  and  more;  we'll  count  the  toes,  too:  jin- 
kaht — \id\i-klake^  jin  kaht  kah  deh,  jin  kaht-V\i\\-nusk^  jin- 
kaht-kah-dok-won,  jin-kaht-kah-kejin,  jiny('a///'-kah-kla-^//^- 
sha,  jinkaht-kah-deh-a-du-sha,  jinkaht-kah-nusk-kla-du- 
sha,  jinkaht-kah-goosh-ook — klake-kah;  yes,  twenty:  one 
whole  man — of  fish!"  And  baby  laughs  at  the  tickling 
of  his  toes  as  if  he  understood  it  all,  and  his  young 
mother  laughs  with  him — neither  of  them  noticing  the 
warning  rustle  of  the  leaves  nor  seeing  that  their  enemy 
is  near,  until  suddenly  startled  by  his  voice. 

Yealh-neddy's  cunning  had  not  failed  to  penetrate  th 
innocent  ruse  of  Kotch-kul-ah  to  rid  herself  of  him.  i 
had  not  been  blind  to  her  aversion,  though  he  had  buu 
touched  her  through  her  child;  but  he  had  bided  his  time 
with  a  daily  growing  passion,  and  promised  himself  that 
the  time  should  come  soon.  To-day's  opportunity  should 
certainly  not  beg.  Soon  after  Kotch-kul-ah  started  he 
coolly  took  down  her  husband's  fish-spear  from  the  wall 
and  said  he  would  try  his  skill  at  fishing. 

Passing  out  of  the  village  by  the  Kutwulhtoo  trail, 
he  hailed  Goosh-ta-heen,  a  kindred  spirit,  though  weaker 
far  than  himself,  and  together  they  followed  the  steps  of 
the  woman. 

Something  of  his  plan  he  unfolded  to  his  fellow,  and 
when  his  quick  eye  and  ear  had  discovered  her  position 
on  the  tree,  he  seemed  to  have  reached  the  desired  spot 
for  fishing,  and  to  be  wholly  unconscious  of  the  proximity 
of  any  one  save  Goosh-ta-heen  himself,  to  whom  he  gave 
a  wink  of  intelligence  and  continued  to  speak  as  they 
threw  themselves  down  on  the  ground. 

Yealh-neddy  has  made  sure   of  being  within  her  hear- 


A.V  ALASKAN   STONY. 


227 


Lil, 

:er 
of 


ar- 


ing,  and  at  the  same  time  to  be  screened  from  Kotch-kul- 
ali's  sight  by  a  thicket  of  rushes  growing  between  them, 
giving  lier  t'le  impression  that  her  presence  has  been  un- 
discovered. 

With  swift  anxiety  at  the  sound  of  their  voices,  she 
tucks  her  now  hungry  babe  down  under  her  blanket;  and 
lie,  content  with  such  mother  comfort,  holds  his  peace 
and  at  length  sleeps. 

"Pay?"  Yealh-neddy  is  saying;  ** are  blankets  the  only 
pay  a  man  can  have  for  shame  ?  Your  words  are  not  al- 
ways the  words  of  a  fool,  Goosh-ta-heen.  Is  there  nothing 
to  satisfy  shame-hunger  in  seeing  her  a  slave  V* 

"A  slave?" 

"Yes,  a  slave.  What  else  is  she?  If  not  a  slave,  then 
worse — it  matters  little  which  you  call  it.  It  were  easy  to 
see,  if  a  man  were  blind,  what  his  people  think  of  her. 
Bah!  a  woman  that  could  ask  a  man  to  marry  her — isn't 
that  low  enough?  And  then  to  follow  him  in  the  night 
to  his  mother's  house,  till  for  very  shame  they  call  them 
married!  Kin-da-shon  was  too  much  ashamed  to  even 
show  his  face  when  his  mother  went  to  give  blankets  to 
Kotch-kul-ah's  friends." 

"  Was  that  why  he  didn't  go  down  to  Yhin-da-slachy 
with  them?" 

"Yes:  and  then  I  suppose  they  were  afraid  he  would 
see  young  Tashekah  and  kill  himself." 

"  That's  a  thing  new  to  me.  What  had  he  to  do  with 
Tashekah?  That's  Ka-kee's  wife,  isn't  it?  A  pretty 
girl — but  what  had  Kin-da-shon  to  do  with  her?" 

"What  didnt  he  have  to  do  with  her?  Do  you  think 
she  would  have  been  Ka-kee's  wife  if  Kin-da-shon  could 
have  got  home  to  his  mother  without  being  caught  by  that 
girl,  Kotch-kul-ah?  Why,  Tashekah  wears  his  love-gift 
around  her  neck  now!     Ka-kee  doesn't  know  it,  though." 


C28 


KIN.DA.SHON'S    WIFE. 


"That's  a  good  thing  to  know.  You've  got  it  in  your 
quiver,  haven't  you,  Yealh-neddy  ?  " 

"Ah!  Yealh-nedd)'s  quiver  holds  more  than  that  of 
things  that  will  stick  when  they  are  shot." 

"When  did  that  begin  with  Tashekah?" 

"/knew  it  before  Kin-da-shon  began  to  pull  his  beard. 
He  gave  her  a  fine  present  the  first  time  he  ever  went  into 
the  Stick  country;  and  her  father  carried  it  home  to  her." 

"  Kin-da-shon  was  w'th  her  father  when  he  died,  wasn't 
he?" 

"Yes;  and  so  was  I.  They  were  together  all  the  time. 
It  was  all  settled  that  Kin-da-shon  should  have  his  wife 
when  they  got  back  to  Yhin-da-stachy.  Kah-slia  died  b? 
fore  they  got  back,  but  Kin-da-shon  got  Tashekah  all  the 
same.  I  saw  her  in  his  arms  myself — just  before  he 
started  to  Klok-won." 

"  And  when  he  got  here  he  was  already  married  to 
Kotch-kul-ah!" 

"Yes;  that's  the  reason,  of  course,  that  she  ran  away 
from  me — she  meant  to  throw  herself  on  Kin-da-shon." 

Hew  much  more  was  said  Kotch-kul-ah  never  knew. 
From  the  first  sentence  which  caught  her  ears  to  the  last 
which  reached  her  brain,  she  had  seem«d  to  be  in  a  tor- 
ment of  ice  and  fire — held  immovable  by  the  ice-field 
about  her  heart  and  burned  by  the  slow  torture  of  every 
word  they  uttered,  until,  with  the  ease  of  such  natures 
as  live  a  life  in  a  moment,  sen:e  slept;  and,  held  secure 
as  she  was  by  the  close  arms  of  the  tree,  she  sank  back 
and  knew  nothing  more  until,  cramped  and  chilled — 
dead  her  body  seemed  to  be,  and  wet  with  dew — she  at 
last  rouses  with  the  nestling  and  fretting  of  the  rrightened 
child  in  her  arms,  whose  nursing  has  stirred  and  started 
the  tired  life-flood. 

Flooding  back  with  it  comes  all  the  shame.     How  can 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


229 


she  live?  Where  can  she  go ?  Not  at  this  hour  to  Klok- 
won  with  \ealh-neddy  there!  To  Kutwulhtoo,  then — 
and  the  people  believing  her  shameless?  What  may  they 
not  think  of  her  being  abroad  alone  in  the  night  ? 

"O  Kin-da-shon,  my  husband!"  But  even  as  her 
heart  utters  the  cry  bitter  comes  the  mocking  echo :  "  Hus- 
band!" 

Except  the  shame  of  conjugal  love  between  two  of  the 
same  tribe  or  an  exposure  of  her  own  person,  there  is  no 
shame  to  the  Kling-get  woman  like  that  of  yielding  her 
woman  s  right  to  be  sought  and  bought;  and  shame,  as  the 
Kling-gets  define  and  hold  it,  is  the  most  prolific  cause 
of  trouble  and  suicide  among  both  sexes.  Suicide  is  the  way 
out,  and  very  often  it  is  the  only  way  out. 

Sitting  then?  in  her  darkness  and  bitterness,  Kotch-kul- 
ah  feels  herself  liiore  utterly  alone  than  ever  before. 

Heavy  as  is  this  Weight  of  shame,  it  is  as  nothing  to 
this  other — that  Kin-da-shon  is  not  her  own — that  his 
heart  has  all  these  years  been  yearning  for  another. 
Shame  she  dared,  though  not  realizing  all  that  it  seems 
others  had  thought  of  her.  It  had  been  but  a  light 
burden,  Kin-da-shon  bearing  equally  with  her — for  love's 
sake.  She  has  been  so  happy  it  has  never  occurred  to  her 
that  her  husband's  heart  was  not  as  her  own.  He  has 
been  often  grave,  but  she  thought  that  was  because  he 
was  a  man — wiser  and  greater  than  sh'  It  was  the  iittle 
bird's  part  to  sing  and  to  flutter,  the  ragles  soar  high  and 
noiselessly. 

But  now! — oh,  he  has  been  so  good  to  her!  He  saw 
her  love  and  her  trouble  and  took  care  of  her!  He 
thought  he  owed  his  life  to  her — and  she  had  let  him  give 
it,  when  his  heart  was  breaking  for  another!  He  saw 
and  felt  her  shame,  and  would  not  let  her  bear  it  alone. 
Oh,  if  she  had  only  died!     Why  didn't  Usha   bewitch 


230 


KIxV-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


her?  Ah!  she  had  forgotten  in  her  happiness;  but  now, 
with  the  thought  of  Usha  and  witch- work,  comes  rushing 
into  her  heart  and  brain  the  curses  ever  sure  to  fall  on  those 
who  put  out  a  hand  in  aid  of  these  powers  of  darkness. 

"They  have  got  me!  "  she  cries;  "that  is  it.  Why  did 
I  not  let  you  die,  Sha-hehe?  Why  did  I  not  bruise  you 
enough  to  kill  your  demon?  O  Usha — did  you  help 
me  to  live  only  that  I  might  get  the  more  hurt  ? " 

Many  things  in  her  husband's  manner,  unthought  of  in 
her  happy  fulness  of  heart,  come  back  to  her  now  with 
new  and  terrible  meaning. 

"  He  has  never  loved  me — his  heart  has  died  as  mine 
would  have  died  without  him — as  it  is  dying  now!  He 
has  never  gone  back  to  Yhin-da-stachy  till  now;  he  has 
been  afraid  to  go!  But  tiow — he  will  see  Tashekah. 
Now  his  love  will  be  greater  than  before,  and  the  woman 
who  came  between  them  he  will  hate!  " 

What  will  come  of  it?  What  can  she  do?  She  thinks 
again  of  Usha-shawet,  but  she  could  not  keep  her  haby 
there.  She  thinks  of  death,  but  her  child  is  Kin-da- 
shon's  and  he  loves  him — and  the  baby  needs  her  yet — 
she  7nust  live! 

But  now — to-night!  What  for  to-night?  She  cannot 
go  to  either  Klok-won  or  Kutwulhtoo  before  morning. 
If  she  stays  where  she  is,  Kin-da-shon's  mother  will  think 
she  has  stayed  at  Kutwulhtoo,  and  the  Kutwulhtoo  people 
will  not  know  that  she  had  left  her  home. 

She  can  only  stay  where  she  is;  but  her  limbs  are  so 
numb — she  must  try  to  stir  them  a  little.  She  tries  to 
move  along  down  the  tree, but,  with  her  baby,  fears  to  trust 
herself;  so  she  settles  back  again  to  wait  for  daylight, 
and  at  length  both  she  and  the  child  sleep. 

When  Kotch-kul-ah  awakes  again,  it  is  again  the  child 
who  has  called  her  back — this  time  to  the  broad  glare  of 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


231 


day,  in  which  shame  is  doubly  shameful  and  hopelessness 
becomes  despair. 

It  is  the  hard  light  which  she  feels  first;  then  the 
shame,  and  then  the  despair. 

"O  baby,  don't  cry !"  she  says,  as  she  holds  him  still 
closer  to  her  heart.  But  now  he  does  cry,  and  struggles 
so  that  her  benumbed  arms  tremble  with  tlie  effort  to  hold 
him. 

''Man— walk!"  he  cries,  and  the  words  bring  back 
strange  echoes,  as  of  a  day  in  another  world— a  life  long 
past. 

"Man— walk!  "  the  baby  demands  again,  and  this  time 
with  kickings  so  violent  that  his  mother's  grasp  is  power- 
less to  keep  him;  and  she  but  half-realizes  that  he  has 
gone  when  she  hears  the  splash  in  the  waters  below— the 
swift,  dark-flowing  waters,  where  yesterday  she  had  shown 
him  the  fishes  shining  in  the  sunlight! 

She  tries  to  loosen  herself  from  the  tree — to  fling  her- 
self down  after  him;  but  before  r  heavy  body  is  free 
a  strong  arm  is  thrust  out  from  the  1  ush  below  her,  and 
now— O  joy!— her  boy  has  been  caught  )y  his  little 
leathern  shirt  on  a  bare,  dead,  broken  branch  which 
droops  into  the  river.  He  may  be  dead;  but  he  has  not 
been  carried  down  with  the  current— his  little  body  can 
be  burned. 

A  moment  more  and  she  sees  her  darling  swung  by  the 
heels  and  choking;  and  then — joy  and  horror! — he  x^alirs 
— in  Yealh-neddf  s  arms!  With  a  cry  of — she  knows  no* 
which  emotion— Kotch-kul-ah  covers  her  face  and  cowers 
down,  trembling  and  helpless. 

"Come,  Kotch-kul-ah,  you  had  better  go  home,"  he 
says;  "here  is  your  boy." 

She  tries  to  move,  but  her  limbs  refuse  to  obey. 

"Come,  get  your  young  one;  I  don't  want  him!" 


232 


KIN.  DA  •  SHON'  S    WIFE: 


Vainly  she  tries  again.  She  is  frightened  at  her  con- 
dition; she  tries  to  speak,  but  a  strange,  inarticulate 
sound  is  all  that  escapes  her  lips. 

Yealh-neddy  drops  the  child  upon  the  ground,  mutter- 
ing as  he  ascends  the  tree,  and  takes  a  bottle  from  his  pouch — 
a  bottle  gotten  in  the  south  country,  and  covered  by 
Kah-da-guah  with  woven  grass.  He  grasps  Kotch-kul- 
ah's  hair,  throws  back  her  head,  and  forcing  the  opened 
bottle  into  her  mouth,  pours  the  clear  liquid  down  her 
throat. 

Pure  liquid  fire  it  seems  to  the  strangling  woman — 
mouth,  throat,  and  stomach  are  filled  with  such  strange 
burning.  But  in  a  moment  she  feels  it  flying  through 
her  veins;  fingers  and  toes  tingle;  her  head  grows  both 
full  and  light.  She  can  go  now,  she  says,  in  a  voice  not 
quite  her  own,  and  she  even  feels  grateful  to  Yealh- 
neddy.  If  he  will  help  her  a  little.  She  is  strong,  but 
not  quite  steady  yet.  She  needs  to  get  down  on  her  feet. 
If  Yealh-neddy  will  help  her  a  little  she  will  go  down  to 
baby;  and  then  she  will  soon  be  right  and  go  home. 

With  that  in  his  face  which  she  cannot  now  appreciate 
or  fear,  he  takes  her  by  the  arm  and  almost  lifts  her 
down.  She  takes  up  her  shivering  child,  strips  him  of 
his  wet  shirt,  and  gathers  him  into  her  bosom,  where  he 
soon  recovers  warmth  and  vigor.  Then  folding  him  into 
her  blanket,  she  takes  him  on  lier  back  and  starts  toward 
Klok-won,  with  Yealh-neddy  behind  her. 

Faster  and  faster  fly  her  steps,  until,  having  made  the 
turn  of  the  trail — the  very  point  where  she  and  Kin-da- 
shon  left  the  canoe  and  Usha  and  went  alone  together 
to  his  mother's  house,  in  the  dim  morning  light  which 
was  so  sweet  and  strange  to  h-er  then  md  has  been  so 
sweet  and  familiar  ever  since  until  now — having  come 
to  this  point,  with  these  recollections  in  her  heart  and 


AN  ALASKAN    STORY. 


^Z2> 


the  village  in  full  view  before  her,  and  the  fire  medicine 
in  her  blood  having  burned  low,  heart  and  flesh  seem  to 
fail  her.  She  staggers,  and  at  length  sits  down  by  the 
trail  and  buries  her  face  in  her  hands  on  her  shaking 
knees. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  It  is  Yealh-neddy's voice, 
and  she  shudders  perceptibly. 

"Go  on — take  your  young  one  home;  or  do  you  want 
me  to  take  it?" 

"  No — no!  "  she  cries;  "but  I  can't  go;  my  strength  is 
gone  from  me." 

"You  are  sick — you  want  more  medicine?" 

"What  is  that  medicine,  Yealh-neddy ?" 

"Spirit — life — it  will  bring  the  dead  to  life.  Don't 
you  believe  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  It's  from  the  devil,  I'm  afraid; 
but  it  made  me  strong.  Yes,  if  you  will  give  it  I  will 
take  a  little  more — I  must  go  home!  " 

"See  here,  girl;  I  don't  owe  you  much  good,  but  you 
may  have  this  bottle  if  you  keep  it  quiet;  it's  a  friend 
for  trouble."  And  tossing  the  bottle  into  the  grass  at  her 
feet  he  moves  on,  with  his  borrowed  fishing-spear  over 
his  shoulder,  toward  the  house  of  Shans-ga-gate,  nor 
turns  his  head  to  look  until  he  has  reached  the  door;  then 
he  sees  her  with  the  bottle  raised  to  her  lips. 

Breakfast  engages  the  household  as  Yealh-neddy  en- 
ters; and  he,  seating  himself  within  reach  of  the  boiled 
fish-eggs,  draws  from  his  pouch  his  own  spoon  and  pro- 
ceeds to  help  himself. 

His  appearance  has  been  greeted  with  looks  of  inquiry 
only;  but  after  a  time  Shans-ga-gate,  with  a  sly  smile, 
asks: 

"Who  carries  yoMx  fish,  Yealh-neddy?" 

"Kotch-kul-ah — and  the  river,"  is  his  ready  answer. 


234 


KIN-DA-SHON'  S    WIFE: 


"  Kotch-kul-ah!  "  exclaims  Sha-ga-uk,  in  utter  conster- 
nation, hardly  noticing  the  strangeness  of  his  answer  as 
a  whole — "Kotch-kul-ah!  What  has  she  %o\.  to  do  with 
your  fish?  " 

"  Maybe  she  can  tell  you." 

"  Have^^«  been  to  Kutwulhtoo?" 

"  No — only  part  way." 

"Where  is  Kotch-kul-ah?" 

"Coming — at  the  door,  I  think." 

More  and  more  mystified,  Sha-ga-uk  glances  at  the 
door,  which  gives  no  sign  of  any  coming;  then,  unable  to 
restrain  herself  further,  she  rises  and  goes  to  the  door. 

On  stepping  outside,  she  sees  Kotch-kul-ah  but  a  few 
steps  off,  and  waits  till  she  comes  nearer. 

The  strangeness  of  her  appearance  and  manner  would 
seem  to  match  that  of  Yealh-neddy's  speech.  What  are 
the  witches  working  among  them? 

"Kotch-kul-ah,  where  are  you  from?  "comes  in  more 
peremptory  fashion  than  any  question  ever  before  put  by 
her  mother-in-law. 

"From — from  the  river,"  stammers  the  girl,  with  an 
utterance  strange  and  thick. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Where  did  you  sleep  last  night  ? 
Speak!  answer  me!  "  Sha-ga-uk  almost  screams,  as  Kotch- 
kul-ah  stands  looking  this  way  and  that,  her  lips  moving 
without  a  sound.  But,  roused  at  length  by  the  elder 
woman's  vehemence,  the  girl  laughs,  while  tears  flow  from 
her  eyes — eyes  that  show  no  resemblance  to  Kotch-kul- 
ah 's — as  she  answers: 

"  On  a — a  tr — tree,"  and  again  the  silly  laugh. 

"  Girl !  "  And  in  a  second  Sha-ga-uk  is  beside  her.  She 
knows  the  effect  and  the  smell,  and  it  may  be  the  taste  of 
hoots-a-noo.  Nothing  could  exceed  her  horror  and  disgust 
at  this  discovery. 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


235 


"  Girl,  who  gave  you  drink  ?  Where  did  you  get  this 
stuff?" 

"  Yealh-neddy — give — medicine — good  medicine." 

"Yealh-neddy!  "  shrilly  demands  the  mother.  "What 
has  any  honest  wife  to  do  with  Yealh-neddy,  I  want  to 
know?  O  Kin-da-shonI  my  son,  my  son!  To  think  she 
has  fallen  so  low!  "     Then  to  the  girl: 

"  Give  me  the  child,  woman!  "  And  with  strong,  ungen- 
tle hands  she  forces  down  the  blanket  and  takes  from  it 
the  naked  child. 

"Where  is  his  shirt,  you  vile  creature?" 

Fumbling  with  half-senseless  hands,  from  the  upper  half 
of  her  dress — held  in  place  by  a  string  of  leather  about 
the  waist,  thus  forming  a  receptacle  for  various  things — 
the  poor  girl  draws  out  not  only  the  soaked  little  shirt, 
but  one  of  the  moccasins  which  she  had  gone  to  carry. 

Snatching  the  shirt,  Kin-da-shon's  mother  looks  at  it 
with  angry  questioning,  disdaining  the  moccasin.  Then, 
as  though  realizing  the  uselessness  of  further  words,  she 
turns,  and  taking  Kotch-kul-ah  by  the  shoulder  pushes 
her  into  the  house,  and  following,  makes  her  lie  down  in 
the  corner  near  the  door,  where  she  leaves  her  to  herself. 

A  week  has  passed — the  Kling-get  week,  marked  by 
Seven  settings  of  the  sun,  but  unmarked  by  any  seventh 
of  blessed  rest  or  joyous  rising  of  the  hope  of  resurrection. 

It  has  been  a  week  of  daily  increasing  anguish  to  Kotch- 
kul-ah,  upon  whom  has  fallen  the  unlifting  blight  of 
public  dishonor,  which  needs  only  the  small  additional 
evidence  of  an  eye-witness  to  her  infiuclity  to  cause  her 
to  be  driven  naked  through  the  village  at  the  head  of  a 
jeering  rabble,  and  killed,  that  her  husband's  shame  may 
be  atoned  for. 

So  slight  is  this  missing  link  considered  in  the  face  of 
what  is  already  known — her  night  out  with    a    man  of 


3^6 


KIN.DA.SIION'S    WIFE: 


Yealh-neddy's  well-known  character,  her  drunkenness, 
and  Yealh-neddy's  nonchalance  a  id  innuendoes — that  ex- 
istence itself  is  made  slow,  undying  death  to  the  girl; 
and  this  is  but  added  to  the  eating  of  heart  in  regard  to 
her  husband. 

He  has  failed  to  come  with  the  other  men  who  arrived 
the  day  after  her  shame  was  proclaimed.  She  had  thought 
at  first  that  she  might  tell  him  what  it  were  worse  than 
useless  to  tell  any  one  else — the  true  history  of  that  day 
and  night.  She  thought  that  for  their  baby's  sake  he 
might  listen.  Then,  he  had  been  so  good,  he  had  done 
so  much,  he  might  believe  her;  and — vain  hope! — she 
knew  it  was — might  cover  her  from  the  people. 

But  now!  he  has  stopped  by  the  way;  his  love  for 
Tashekah  has  kept  him.  When  he  comes  will  he  not  even 
rejoice  that  she  who  has  held  him  can  hold  him  no  more? 
She  will  go  away;  she  will  leave  him  his  son,  and  she 
will  go  where  she  can  die  in  peace. 

"  His  son,"  did  she  say  ?  No  !  he  is  her  son — the  son  of 
a  woman  dishonored  He  will  never  be  known  as  the 
son  of  Kin-da-shon  the  good,  but  ever  and  ever  the  son  of 
vile  Kotch-kul-ah!  They  will  make  of  him  a  slave — the 
lowest  of  her  tribe.  Never!  She  will  never  leave  her 
baby  to  such  a  fate  as  that.  It  were  better  to  kill  him 
with  her  own  hand. 

The  thought  of  flight  grows  upon  her,  She  will  go; 
she  must  go!  Her  mother's  mother  was  a  Sitka  woman. 
If  there  is  any  place  for  her  on  earth  it  is  there,  among 
her  own  family.  She  will  try  it.  She  will  take  Kin-da- 
shon's  own  canoe,  the  little  one  in  which  they  have  so 
often  gone  hunting  and  fishing  together.  She  will  go  in 
the  night. 

But  she  has  eaten  nothing  for  so  many  days  she  fears 
her  strength  maj  fail  her.     Even  now  she  is  trembling 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


237 


like  the  birch  leaves  she  used  to  watch  and  love  as  they 
shook  their  sweetness  out  upon  the  soft  south  wind.  The 
memory  makes  her  sick  and  giddy. 

In  her  weakness  her  fears  increase.  She  is  even  afraid 
that  she  has  not  the  courage  to  risk  the  effort  of  getting 
away.  She  thinks  of  Yealh-neddy's  wonderful  "life- 
water,"  and  recoils  at  the  thought.  Vet  that  would  help 
her  to  get  away;  it  would  drown  her  fears  and  give  her 
courage.  He  has  the  bottle.  It  was  empty,  but  he  has 
more  to  put  in  it;  he  told  her  so,  and  that  if  she  wanted 
more  she  might  have  it.  Even  Yealh-neddy  is  kinder 
than  Kin-da-shon's  friends.  How  is  it — hating  him  as  she 
does?  She  must  ask  him  to  give  her  the  bottle  again. 
She  will  tell  him  that  she  is  sick,  and  indeed  she  is  more 
sick  than  ever  she  has  been  before. 

The  night  has  come,  the  bottle  is  in  her  possession,  the 
canoe  is  safely  hidden  in  the  long  grass  at  the  point;  for 
she  has  fancied  to  start  from  the  place  where  she  and 
Kin-da-shon  began  to  be  alone  together. 

She  has  gotten  together  in  a  little  pack  what  she  must 
have  to  keep  herself  alive  and  to  make  baby  comfortable. 
The  village  is  quiet;  the  people  are  asleep. 

Her  new  place  by  the  door,  showing  her  degradation,  is 
at  least  more  easily  escaped  from  than  her  old  place  of 
honor  beyond  the  fire. 

She  is  out;  she  has  reached  the  point — coming  almost 
breathlessly,  and  with  a  swiftness  that  in  her  weakened 
condition  leaves  her  exhausted.  She  sinks  down,  under 
her  double  burden  of  boy  and  bundle,  turning  her  hot 
face  into  the  frosty  last  year's  grass  lying  gray  and  dead 
above  the  tender  shoots  already  started  by  a  few  bright 
suns.     She  lies  a  long  time  so. 

Stirring  herself  at  last,  she  sits  up  and  looks  about  her. 
It  is  so  dark  she  cannot  see  even  the  water.     It  is  such  a 


238 


KrA'.DA-SnON'S    WII'E: 


night  as  the  spirits  of  evil  love.  She  is  so  alone — fear- 
fully alone!  Her  heart  fails  her,  yet  she  dares  not  return 
to  the  village.  She  tries  to  rise  to  her  feet,  but  her 
shaking  limbs  will  not  bear  her.  Helpless,  she  drops 
again  to  the  kindly  earth  beside  her  sleeping  babe.  She 
will  wait  a  little.  When  it  grows  lighter  with  the  old 
moon  by  and  by  she  will  be  stronger. 

She  is  shivering.  She  thrusts  her  cold  hands  into  her 
bosom — what  is  that?  The  bottle!  She  had  forgotten 
it.  It  is  now  that  she  needs  it.  And  drawing  it  out,  she 
raises  it  to  her  unwilling  lips  and — she  has  swallowed  of 
it — once,  twice!  Ah!  it  is  the  life  she  needs;  it  is 
strength!  More — more!  She  will  be  able  to  do  what  she 
:nust.  That  will  do.  She  is  too  weary  to  put  the  stopper 
in  the  bottle  now.  After  her  strength  has  more  fully 
come  she  will  fix  it.  What  warmth  creeps  through  her 
frame!  How  soft  the  grass  is,  and  how  sweet  to  rest  on! 
Strength  is  coming;  she  will  soon  be  ready  to  go.  Just 
a  little  more  of  resting  till  the  moon  comes! 

Lying  prone  upon  the  ground  there,  clutching  the  un- 
corked bottle — her  babe  a  few  paces  off  in  the  grass,  the 
bundle  between  them,  Yealh-neddy,  in  the  twilight  of  the 
morning,  discovers  the  wife  of  Kin-da-shon  in  heavy, 
drunken  stupor. 

With  a  hoot  of  such  gratification  as  fiends  know,  he 
approaches  the  prostrate  woman,  and  with  his  foot  turns 
her  to  one  side.  A  heavy  snore  is  all  the  sign  she  makes. 
At  the  same  moment  his  ear  detects  the  dip  of  paddles, 
and  stretching  himself  low  in  the  grass  he  watches  the 
canoe  approaching  from  the  south.  It  is  coming  to  this 
very  spot!  Quickly  dropping  his  face  upon  his  folded 
arms,  Yealh-neddy  feigns  sleep. 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


239 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


kin-da-shon  s   return    from    the   ytjkon- 

ah's  flight. 


-KOTCH-KUL- 


;s. 
s, 

lis 


"  P)UT,  Kin-da-shon,  I  have  been  over  this  trail  more 
times  than  I  have  fingers  and  toes  to  count  them  on. 
I  tell  you  it  is  best  to  go  no  farther.  We  have  made  a 
middling  trade,  and  now  we  must  be  back  before  the  rain 
begins  to  fall  and  the  mountain's  snow  to  soften." 

It  was  Chuh-le,  one  of  the  older  men  of  the  party,  who 
spoke. 

"I  know  it,  Chuh-le;  and  you  must  not  wait  for  me. 
But  Koon-teh  says  that  his  house  is  not  above  a  short 
sun's  journey  from  here,  and  his  wife  has  finished  by  this 
time  just  such  a  black-fox  robe  as  I  want  for  Kotch-kul-ah. 
I  can't  go  back  without  it." 

"Would  you  throw  life  to  the  ravens  for  the  sake  of 
one  more  fox-skin,  young  man?" 

"No:  neither  your  life  nor  mine;  but  I  will  gladly 
take  the  extra  run  and  risk  the  rains — not  for  you,  but 
for  myself — to  see  the  suns  rise  in  my  good  wife's  eyes." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  that  they  wont  set  in  your  own  for- 
ever! I  don't  like  it,  Kin-da-shon.  I  wish  you  would 
come." 

"  Beg  no  trouble,  good  friend,  and  waste  no  time  for 
us  both.  You  must  all  go  on  just  as  if  I  went  too;  and 
/ — my  legs  are  young  and  long,  you  know.  I  will  go 
with  Koon-teh  to-day,  and  come  again  by  this  time  to- 
morrow. The  third  day  I  will  overtake  you  as  you  enter 
the  pass.     Go  now!  '*     And  turning  lightly,  having  given 


£4^ 


KIN.DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


the  skins  he  had  already  traded  for  into  the  keeping  of 
his  man,  he  joined  Koon-teh,  who  some  time  ago  took 
the  trail  up  the  river. 

Chuh-le  shook  his  head  as  he  looked  after  him,  but, 
with  his  own  pack  already  on  his  shoulders,  he  turned 
and  took  the  lead  of  his  party  in  the  opposite  direction. 

On  the  third  day,  when  they  had  reached  the  pass,  the 
party  halted,  and  making  a  fire  refreshed  themselves  with 
food  and  sleep.  A  longer  rest  than  on  ordinary  occasions 
they  allowed  hemselves,  in  the  hope  that  Kin-da-shon 
would  join  them. 

But  the  clouds  were  moving  swiftly  and  low,  and  their 
breath  was  from  the  southern  sea.  Time  was  precious 
and  life  was  dear.  By  losing  one  they  were  risking  the 
other.     They  must  go  on  without  him. 

Up  they  went,  now  and  again  turning  to  look  back  over 
the  lower  trail,  and  sometimes  firing  a  gun,  hoping  to  get 
an  answering  signal;  but  they  reached  the  cloud-swathed 
summit  without  a  sign  of  their  tardy  comrade.  Already 
the  rain  had  begun  to  fall,  and  on  the  descent  they  found 
it  blinding  and  perilous. 

Before  taking  to  their  canoes  at  the  end  of  the  trail 
another  long  halt  was  made.  Then,  seeing  no  indication 
of  his  coming,  their  journey  was  resumed  and  in  due  time 
completed. 

In  the  mean  time  Kin-da-shon,  after  making  a  satisfac- 
tory bargain  with  Koon-teh  and  his  wife,  started  gayly  on 
the  return  trip.  Short  was  the  rest  he  gave  himself,  for 
both  heart  and  pack  were  light;  and  he  made  even  longer 
legs  than  he  had  promised. 

"I  will  be  with  them  to-night,"  he  laughed  to  himself. 
**  Chuh-le  shall  say  that  neither  my  head  nor  my  feet  are 
soft  when  he  finds  me  sleeping  beside  him  to-morrow." 

He  was  within  half  a  day's  tramp  of  the  last  camp 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


341 


before  the  ascent,  when,  in  some  unaccountable  way,  he 
made  a  misstep,  spraining  his  ankle;  and  though  he  made 
nothing  of  it  for  a  time,  the  pain  became  more  and  more 
severe  and  the  foot  so  swollen  that  he  was  obliged  to 
stop  and  cut  the  leather  of  his  soft  boot.  The  lameness 
increased,  and  so  retarded  his  movements  that  night  found 
him  more  than  one  such  day's  journey  from  his  friends. 

When  he  found  himself  obliged  to  halt  for  the  night, 
it  was  on  a  dreary  stretch  of  snow,  without  so  much  as  a 
twig  with  which  to  make  a  fire.  Digging  out  a  hole  in 
the  snow,  he  crawled  into  it  and  slept  until  the  pain 
awakened  him. 

Finding  after  a  time  that  he  could  see  to  travel  by  the 
late  moon's  light,  though  herself  was  unseen  through  the 
thick  atmosphere,  he  again  took  up  the  march.  And  so, 
day  after  day,  as  he  could  drag  the  heavy  painful  limb, 
he  made  by  slow  degrees  the  tedious  ascent,  and  with 
somewhat  lightened  heart  started  down  the  long  and  dan- 
gerous decline. 

He  had  not  gone  many  yards,  however,  down  the  tortu- 
ous way  before  he  discovered  that  all  trace  of  the  trail 
was  lost,  and  that  at  every  step  the  snow  became  more 
soft  and  treacherous. 

Now  and  then  he  was  startled  by  an  ominous  roar,  as 
of  raging  waters  underneath  the  honey-combed  snow  he 
was  treading.  Once  it  seemed  to  be  trembling,  and  he 
sat  down,  half-paralyzed,  to  see  from  another  spur  of  the 
mountain  a  field  of  ice  fifty  feet  in  depth  and  more  than 
twice  that  in  breadth  go  thundering  down  into  an  abyss, 
which  made  him  shudder. 

Snow-shoes  he  soon  found  useless,  and  himself  unable 

even  to  carry  them.     There  were  places  where  he  was 

obliged  to  lie  down  against  his   little  pack  and  slide. 

Again,  turning  on  his  face,  he  went  clinging  with  toes 

16 


242 


KIN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


and  fingers,  scarcely  breathing,  lest  the  final  Impulse 
should  be  l^given  the  mass  beneath  him.  At  times,  in 
taking  a  step,  he  sank  into  the  softened  snow  to  his  out- 
stretched arms,  and  struggled  slowly  and  cautiously  out 
of  the  grave  until  his  body  lay  its  outspread  length  and 
breadth  on  the  sur^^ace  again. 

Half  of  the  descent  had  thus  been  made.  He  had  not 
felt  the  pain  in  his  limb,  so  tense  had  been  the  strain  on 
his  whole  being;  but  the  time  seemed  an  eternity,  and 
looking  down  from  his  dizzy  height  there  seemed  no  end 
to  reach. 

He  had  come  to  the  edge  of  a  long  glare  of  harder  snow 
— more  precipitous  than  the  last  he  had  struggled  through ; 
and  finding  himself  almost  exhausted  he  fastened  his  fin- 
gers and  toes  into  it,  and  lay  resting  before  he  should 
begin  the  fearful  feat  of  crossing  its  sheeny  surface. 

Suddenly  he  became  aware  of  the  frightful  roaring 
which  always  made  his  heart  stand  still.  It  grew  louder 
— nearer!  The  mass  beneath  him  shuddered,  creaked, 
rocked,  and  then,  as  though  heaven  and  earth  had  parted, 
with  a  noise  as  of  the  bursting  of  worlds,  Kin-da-shon  felt 
himself  hurled  into  chaos. 

Down,  down,  forever  down!  His  eyes  lost  the  power 
of  sight;  his  ears  burst;  there  was  the  crash  of  a  shat- 
tered univeise,  and  the  atom,  Kin-da-shon,  ceased  to  have 
an  identity. 


As  an  unknown  quantity  in  aa  unknown  sphere  Kin-da- 
shon  awoke — if  that  may  be  called  waking  where  there  is 
neither  feeling  nor  conscious  thought;  where  knowledge  of 
naught  past  can  make  comparison  with  aught  present. 

Where?  whence?  whither?  were  questions  that  did  not 
rise  to  perplex  him;  nc'ther  when  nor  how. 

Moved  by  an  impulse  which  sprang  from  no  intelligent 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


243 


not 


volition  of  his  own,  he  extricated  himself  from  the  debris 
of  the  avalanche,  the  course  of  which  had  been  directly 
toward  the  canyon  from  which  flowed  the  creek  at  the 
head  of  Inlet  Dy-yd. 

By  the  same  power  he  found  a  small  canoe,  left  by 
Chuh-le  in  the  rushes,  in  which  he  launched  upon  the 
noisy,  rapid,  swollen  stream,  and  was  borne  swiftly  out 
to  the  inlet. 

The  flood-tide  was  just  beginning  *o  ebb,  and  thf  wind 
was  falling  back  with  it  also.  Together  they  carried  the 
little  boat  straight  out  to  channel.  Once  there,  it  could 
not  long  have  been  drifting  about  before  it  was  discovered 
by  Ka-kee  and  Tashekah,  just  returning  with  full  sail 
from  Chilkoot. 

Thinking  it  to  have  been  carried  out  by  an  unwatched 
tide  from  some  hunting-party,  they  paddle  across  to  make 
investigation.  Great  was  their  horror  at  the  unexpected 
sight  of  the  silent  form  lying  within  the  drifting  boat. 

After  coming  to  themselves,  Tashekah  implored  Ka-kee 
to  allow  her  to  draw  the  boat  after  them  to  the  portage, 
where  they  could  examine  it  further.  This  was  finally 
done. 

They  were  yet  a  little  distance  from  Portage  Bay, 
when  a  shout  came  from  the  wooded  shore.  They  an- 
swered, and  found  by  the  second  call  that  Chuh-le  and  a 
helper  were  making  a  canoe  among  the  trees  of  cotton- 
wood. 

Chuh-le,  still  anxious  for  Kin-da-shon,  had  been  daily  on 
the  lookout,  hailing  every  canoe  that  came  into  sight 
from  above.  When  in  response  to  his  urging  Ka-kee 
came  within  *^asy  speaking  distance,  the  sight  of  the 
canoe  in  tow  caused  his  heart  to  leap. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  canoe?"  he  asked,  unable  to 
see  him  who  lay  within  it. 


244 


KIiV-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


"Drifting — from  Dy-ya;"  then,  cautiously,  "Do  you 
know  it?" 

"  It  is  mine. 

"  From  where? " 

"  From  the  inlet's  head." 

"  Who  has  taken  it  out  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?    The  spirit  of  the  mountains,  maybe !  " 

A  momentary  pallor  overspread  the  faces  of  the  two  who 
had  the  boat  in  charge,  but  almost  instantly  Ka-kee  re- 
covered himself  enough  to  say  with  assumed  lightness: 

"We've  got  him  with  us,  then." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Chuh-le  demands,  dropping  his 
adze  and  coming  to  the  water's  edge. 

"Come  and  see,"  Ka-kee  said,  making  steadily  to 
shore,  relieved  to  share  the  burden  which  had  been  grow- 
ing no  lighter  as  they  neared  the  portage. 

"It  is  Kin-da-shon!  "  groaned  Chuh-le  in  a  voice  of 
mingled  pain  and  terror,  "Kin-da-shon,  poor  man!" 
Then,  after  a  moment's  thought,  during  which  his  own 
feelings  too  greatly  absorbed  him  to  allow  any  notice  of 
the  man  and  woman  sitting  before  him: 

"  Let  us  go  with  you  and  help  to  take  him  home." 

To  this  plan  Ka-kee  very  readily  agreed,  and  taking 
Chuh-le  and  his  man  into  his  own  canoe,  they  soon  reached 
the  Da-shu  trail. 

A  litter  was  then  made  by  tying  a  blanket  on  two  poles 
which  were  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  Chuh-le  and  his 
man,  disturbing  the  body — in  which  they  had  discovered 
that  life  was  not  extinct — as  little  as  possible;  and  it  was 
thus  borne  to  the  village  Yhin-da-stachy,  Tashekah  and 
Ka-kee  following  with  their  packs. 

The  gradual  coming  back  of  life  and  thought,  lifting 
the  curtains  of  memory  and  quickening  realization — these 
experiences  of    Kin-da-shon*s   let  us  pass   them   over — 


he 
ha 
hi 
he 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


245 


to 


physical  agony  also  when  the  circulation  sought  its  ac- 
customed channels.  Poor  mangled  and  frozen  body! 
The  outward  grandeur  of  the  man  was  gone  forever. 

Of  the  long,  supple  feet,  whose  tread  had  been  so  light 
and  fleet  and  elastic,  nothing  remained  but  the  black, 
swollen,  toeless  stumps.  The  hands,  too,  strong  and  full 
of  character,  but  slender  and  delicate  as  a  woman's — 
where  was  their  beauty  and  their  cunning?  The  thumbs 
and  two  or  three  of  the  fingers  were  all  that  could  be 
saved  to  their  deformed  bodies. 

Great  kindness  was  shown  the  sufferer  by  the  Yhin-da- 
stachy  people,  but  Kin-da-shon  longed  to  get  home;  and  as 
soon  as  possible  they  made  a  box-litter,  in  which  he  could 
sit  or  lie  and  be  carried  from  place  to  place  without  dis- 
turbing the  body,  now  racked  more  and  more  with  pain. 

They  took  him  home — Ka-kee  and  Chuh-le — he  lying 
in  the  canoe,  while  they  walked  much  of  the  way,  draw- 
ing it  with  a  rope  to  avoid  the  lurching  which  would  have 
been  caused  by  poling  it  through  the  shallows. 

At  the  dreary  close  of  the  first  day  Kutwulhtoo  was 
reached,  and  the  tired  men  gladly  shared  the  shelter  and 
the  supper  of  their  friends;  while  Kin-da-shon,  too 
thoughtful  and  unselfish  to  demur,  felt  the — for  him 
sleepless — delay  was  hardly  to  be  endured;  the  more 
hardly  endured  because  so  very  near  his  home. 

More  and  more,  through  the  long  hours  of  waking  and 
suffering,  his  heart  ran  before  kirn  to  his  boy,  his  baby — 
dearer  than  ever  child  was  to  a  father  before — and  to  the 
baby's  mother.  How  good  she  was  to  him  always,  and 
tender!  How  all  these  years  she  had  warmed  him  with 
her  love!  When  his  own  heart  was  cold  and  dead  she 
had  brought  him  light  and  warmth  and  love.  Yes,  he 
loved  h^v.  He  felt  that  more  and  more.  He  would  tell 
her  so  when  he  got  home.     He  would  make  her  glad. 


246 


KIN-DA-S/IOiV  S    WIFE: 


Then  for  the  first  time  came  thoughts  of  his  ruined, 
broken  body — his  helplessness,  so  despicable  in  a  man! 
What  had  he  now  to  give  her?  A  burden  of  broken, 
suffering  flesh!  His  heart  groaned  in  deeper  suffering 
than  his  flesh  had  ever  known. 

"And  this  is  how  I  slall  make  her  glad!"  was  his 
bitter  thought. 

But  gradually,  as  the  night  wore  on,  the  edge  of  this 
keen  pain  was  worn  dull  with  grinding,  and  softer 
thoughts  came. 

"  Kotch-kul-ah  loves  me.  She  will  not  hato  my  de- 
formity." And  as  that  thought  grew,  the  desire  for  her 
sympathy  and  for  the  tenderness  of  her  touch  became  so 
strong  that  h..  called  his  friends  and  urged  them  to  get 
started. 

Without  any  alarming  haste  they  complied,  and  stolidly 
climbed  the  river  again.  As  they  proceeded  Kin-da-shon 
became  impressed  with  the  similarity  of  his  present  home- 
coming to  that  of  nearly  three  years  before,  when  Usha 
and  Kotch-kul-ah  brought  him. 

It  is  almost  the  same  hour  of  the  morning.  The  same 
pale  blue  is  about  him,  with  the  white  mis.  hanging  above 
as  it  did  then.  He  recalls  the  early  crying  of  the  village 
dogs,  and  Kotch-kul-ah's  tears,  which  ht,  did  not  under- 
stand. He  thinks  he  understands  them  now.  At  this 
very  moment  his  ears  catch  the  same  familiar  sound,  and 
to  his  own  eyes  it  brings  a  mist  of  tears. 

So  lost  has  he  become  in  the  memory  now  grown  tender 
that  he  would  not  have  one  link  broken. 

"Take  me  ashore  at  the  point,  good  friends,"  he  says; 
and  they,  thinking  it  a  sick  man's  idle  whim,  pay  no 
attention,  but  make  for  the  village  beach. 

"Stop,  then!  let  me  go  alone!  I  must  go  ashore  at 
the  point!  "     Then,  half-frightened  at  his  feverish  anger. 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


247 


tender 


they  obey,  and  a  moment  later  bear  him  on  his  litter  to 
the  top  of  the  bank,  where,  standing  an  instant  undecided 
liovv  to  proceed,  they  advance  a  few  steps,  lay  their  bur- 
den on  tlie  grass,  and  turn  to  make  secure  their  canoe  and 
blankets.  This  has  not  been  half-accomplished  when 
tiicre  comes  from  Kin-da-shon  such  a  shriek  as  never  before 
has  startled  their  dull  ears.  When  they  turn  he  is  sitting 
up  in  his  litter,  staring  before  him  with  such  an  expres- 
sion as  hell  itself  might  cause. 

Though  confident  that  he  is  suffering  from  delirium, 
they  follow  his  gaze  and  retrace  their  steps.  What — what 
is  this? 

There,  almost  within  a  well  man's  r  ^ch,  lying  before 
Kin-da-shon  are — Yealh-neddy  and  Kotch-kul-ah!  Yes — 
and  her  baby!  Its  father's  shriek  has  awakened  and 
frightened  it.  There  in  the  wet  grass,  untended  and 
alone,  his  baby — Kotch-kul-ah's  baby — sits  crying! 

"Give  him  tome,"  Kin-da-shon  presently  says,  in  a 
voice  they  have  never  heard  before. 

They  bring  the  frightened,  struggling  child,  and  the 
father  essays  to  take  it  in  his  arms.  The  futility  of  the 
effort  and  the  now  wondering  eyes  of  the  babe  complete 
the  man's  undoing.  Turning  his  white,  strong  face  into 
the  coverings  of  the  litter,  he  makes  neither  moan  nor 
outcry. 

They  lay  the  babe  beside  his  unconscious  mother,  and 
bearing  the  litter  back  to  their  canoe — all  unheeded  and 
unchecked — their  swift,  steady  paddles  soon  bring  them 
to  the  village,  which  for  Kin-da-shon  is  forever  home- 
less. 

Yealh-neddy's  revenge  is  almost  complete.  He  is 
ready  to  release  his  victim,  since  her  life's  wrecking  is 
assured.  It  is  not  a  part  of  his  purpose  that  she  shall 
pay  the  life  penalty  to  satisfy  her  husband's  people.     He 


24S 


K/N-DA-SIION'S    WIFE: 


owes  them  more  sting  than  that.  Moreover,  a  longer  stay 
in  Klok-won  \z  not  convenient  to  himself. 

Ere  her  broken  husband  has  been  borne  to  the  still 
unawakened  village  Yealh-neddy  has  dragged  the  un- 
knowing Kotch-kul-ah  down  the  bank  and  placed  her  in 
the  canoe  which  she  herself  had  hidden.  Bringing  then 
her  bundle  and  her  baby,  with  equal  tenderness,  he  throws 
them  in  over  her,  and,  pushing  off,  springs  in  himself 
anJ  is  out  of  sight  from  the  village  before  its  people  have 
even  discovered  that  a  canoe  is  approaching.  The  men 
• — Ka-kee  and  Chuh-le — bending  to  their  paddles,  with 
thoughts  on  what  they  have  seen  and  their  faces  village- 
ward,  have  no  suspicion  of  Yealh-neddy's  movements. 
Even  Kutwulhtoo  is  still  asleep  as  the  little  boat  glides 
swiftly  and  noiselessly  by  its  grassy  doorways. 

The  keen,  fresh  air  has  its  effect  in  awaking  and  reviv- 
ing the  miserable  Kotch-kul-ah.  When,  after  a  few  hours' 
run,  they  reach  Yhin-da-stachy,  she  is  able  to  carry  her 
bundle  and  her  baby  up  to  her  mother's  house. 

Yealh-neddy  ^as  told  her  only  what  it  has  suited  his 
purpose  to  have  her  know  of  her  husband's  arrival,  and 
how  he — Yealh-neddy — had  rescued  her  from  shame  and 
death. 

The  meeting  between  herself  and  her  mother  is  word- 
less and  without  demonstration  of  feeling  of  any  sort. 
She  learns  that  a  canoe  has  but  a  few  hours  ago  arrived 
from  Sitka  to  trade  for  oil,  and  that  they  wish  to  return 
by  the  first  tide  to-morrow  if  the  wind  is  fair.  Arrange- 
ments are  soon  made  by  which  Kotch-kul-ah  is  to  accom- 
pany them. 

As  the  evening  draws  on  Kotch-kul-ah  sits,  lonely  and 
apart,  in  the  great  house,  almost  too  numb  to  fear  any- 
thing or  to  realize  her  distresses,  except  that  just  which- 
ever way  she  turns  there  is  darkness  and  suffering  and  a 


hej 


AN  ALAS/CAN   STORY. 


249 


hopeless  dragging  of  life.  Her  baby  has  fallen  asleep  in 
her  arms.  She  has  him,  but  what  shall  she  do  with  him? 
That  is  as  dark  as  all  the  rest. 

Sitting  thus  in  the  gloom  she  does  not  notice  the  slow, 
silent  approach  of  a  woman — a  woman  younger  than  her- 
self— does  not  notice  until  the  woman  has  come  very  near 
and  sits  looking  with  shy  and  kindly  eyes  up  into  her 
own,  so  heavy  and  sad.  She  has  not  even  noticed  the 
eyes  until  touched  gently  by  the  woman's  small,  smooth 
hand.  Younger,  and  she  is  smaller  than  Kotch-kul-ah, 
Her  dress  is  a  print  of  delicate  pattern  and  of  the  nicest 
workmanship.  Everything  about  her  betokens  a  gentle 
and  refined  spirit.  The  face  is  not  so  handsome  as  Kotch- 
kul-ah'sown,  but  it  is  round  and  smooth  and  has  a  healthy 
color.  It  has,  withal,  an  expression  of  truth  and  strength 
and  simple  sincerity,  such  as  wins  you  as  soon  as  the 
trusting  eyes  have  looked  into  yours;  and  then,  when  the 
mouth  has  smiled,  you  know  that  you  could  not  distrust 
the  indwelling  soul  of  that  woman,  with  the  world's  evi- 
dence against  it. 

Kotch-kul-ah  sits  and  gazes  at  her  until  she  has  felt  all 
this,  and  feels  not  so  sure  that  somewhere  there  may  not  be 
a  little  light.     Then — 

"  You  are  Tashekah  ? " 

"Ah!  "  with  a  shy  dropping  of  the  eyes. 

"Why  did  you  come  here?" 

Without  a  word  the  little  brown  hands  take  from  under 
her  blanket  a  small  basket  of  fresh,  white  herring  eggs — 
an  early  spring  delicacy — and  a  curiously-carved  bone 
dish  of  the  pure,  white  oulachan  oil,  and  set  them  before 
Kotch-kul-ah. 

"You  have  eaten  nothing;  you  cannot  have  a  strong 
heart,"  she  says. 

"What  is  that  to — -'•♦'-nie?"  the  weary  Kotch-kul-ah 


250 


KIN-DA-SIION'  S    WIFE: 


asks,  her  heart  touched  enough  to  make  her  lips  un- 
gracious. 

An  instant's  silence,  with  a  pained,  questioning  look 
in  the  child-like  face,  then: 

"You  are  cold,"  the  gentle  voice  says,  "Wait:  I  have 
tea  that  my  father  got  at  Fort  Simpson.  I  will  bring 
you  some;  it  will  do  you  good,"  and  she  has  gone. 

Kotch-kul-ah  lays  her  sleeping  babe  down  against  the 
wall  beside  her,  and  covering  her  face  on  her  knees,  sits 
so  until  aroused  again  by  the  same  peculiar  touch.  There 
is  Tashekah  low  at  her  side,  with  a  bowl  of  steaming, 
fragrant  tea. 

"Drink  it,  dear!" 

Taking  the  bowl  into  her  own  hands,  Kotch-kul-ah 
drinks  it  eagerly.     Then,  handing  back  the  cup,  she  says: 

"It  is  good;  it — is  likejw^.'" 

With  a  look  of  gladness  Tashekah  is  about  to  go, 
when  Kotch-kul-ah  catches  at  her  dress. 

"Wait!  Give  me  your  hand!"  And  taking  one  from 
a  number  of  silver  bracelets  on  her  own  arm  she  fastens 
it  on  the  slender  wrist  of  Tashekah, 

"You  will  never  see  me  again,  but  you  will  think  of 
me  many  times;  and  / — I  will  not  forget  you.    Be  happy!  " 

Tashekah  looks  in  tender  wonder,  while  Kotch-kul-ah, 
with  a  passionate  gesture,  covers  her  head  and  creeps 
closer  to  her  baby.  Then,  taking  up  her  bowl,  the  child- 
woman  goes  silently  back  to  her  little  corner  in  the  house 
of  Ka-kee,  where  soon  she  is  wrapped  in  dreams  of  peace; 
nor  knows  when,  a  few  hours  later,  the  storm-tossed 
Kotch-kul-ah  sets  sail  with  the  trading  people  for  Sitka, 


un- 


AN  ALASKAN    STOR^, 


251 


CHAPTER   XX. 


A     BIT     OF     HISTORY, 


TT  was  no  idle  rumor  which  led  the  people  to  expect  a 
white  trader  that  fall.  It  was  on  a  crisp,  bright 
morning  in  October  when  the  intelligence  was  brought  into 
Yhin-da-stachy  that  he  had  arrived  on  a  boat  that  ate  fire 
and  breathed  like  a  porpoise;  that  he  had  brought  boards 
as  many  as  six  men  could  hew  in  as  many  months,  with 
boxes  and  casks  beyond  counting;  and  that  these  things 
were  all  being  landed  at  Da-shu,  on  Portage  Bay.  Was 
he  going  to  build  a  house  there  all  by  himself  ?  Surely 
he  would  come  to  Yhin-da-stachy,  and  that  would  give  the 
people  much  work  in  packing  all  his  stuff  across  the  trail. 

Then  arose  visions  of  money — silver  money — of  which 
they  had  never  seen  many  pieces  beyond  those  they  had 
used  in  hammering  out  their  jewelry — bracelets,  and 
labrets  for  the  women's  lips,  and  rings  for  fingers,  noses, 
and  ears. 

To  their  easily  excited  minds  the  indications  promised 
vast  wealth  and  many  luxuries. 

But  the  trader  was  not  going  to  Yhin-da-stachy  His 
plank  cabin  was  built  on  Portage  Bay,  where  better  an- 
chorage was  obtainable,  and  because  the  portage  would 
bring  the  trade  of  both  sides  of  the  peninsula  and  all  thaJ: 
came  from  the  interior  by  Dy-ya. 

The  anticipations  of  the  people  in  regard  to  the  pecu- 
niary advantages  which  would  accrue  to  them  through  the 
establishment  of  the  post  were  unrealized,  but  there  cer- 
tainly was  a  ready  market  for  all  their  articles  of  trade; 


252 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


and  though  there  was  just  as  great  a  dearth  in  silver  as 
before,  many  articles  of  dress  and  food  never  before  heard 
of  by  the  people  came  to  be  known  and  used  among  them 
when  so  easily  procured  in  exchange  for  their  furs. 

Encouraged  by  the  bonus  offered  by  the  traders,  the 
distribution  at  "pot-latch"  feasts  became  more  prodigal, 
while  in  proportion  the  comfort  of  families  was  disre- 
garded. Jealousies  grew  and  bitternesses  strengthened. 
Muskets  and  ammunition  more  generally  superseded  the 
bow  and  arrow.  Hoots-a-noo — before  made  by  long  and 
laborious  process  from  native  productions  or  from  sugar 
and  molasses,  made  too  costly  for  frequent  use  by  the 
difficulty  in  procuring  them  fi  ii  such  distances — now 
became  an  easily  acquired  luxury,  without  which  the  fur- 
nishings of  a  feast  were  incomplete. 

Before  half  the  winter  had  passed  the  Chilkat  country 
became  the  scene  of  war  and  bloodshed.  Some  of  the 
roots  of  the  trouble  we  have  already  seen.  There  were 
others  also,  which,  though  long  dormant,  needed  only 
the  stimulus  of  alcohol  to  spring  up  and  unite  with  the 
forces  of  later  birth  in  causing  blood  to  flow  as  water. 

The  trouble  culminated  in  the  village  of  Klok-won. 
Opposite  tribes  held  different  parts  of  the  town,  with 
heavy  barricades  between.  Mothers  and  children,  bound 
to  their  tribes  in  the  strongest  relation  known  to  the 
Kling-get  people,  were  held  on  both  sides  against  hus- 
bands and  fathers  of  the  opposite  tribe. 

After  the  first  mortal  wound  had  been  inflicted,  the 
killing  must  be  kept  up  until  the  loss  of  the  opposing 
tribes  should  be  equal.  A  man  of  high  class  was  held  to 
be  worth  two  men  of  lower  class,  or  four  slaves.  Any 
man  was  worth  two  women  of  the  same  class,  and  so  on, 
even  to  the  mutilation  of  an  ear  or  a  wound  of  any  nature 
whatsoever.     It  was  not  only  "  an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a 


AN   ALAS/CAN    STORY. 


253 


tooth  for  a  tooth,"  but  a  tooth  of  the  same  size  and  an 
eye  of  tlio  same  color. 

It  will  be  easily  seen  what  an  endless  blood-letting 
such  a  system  entails  where  exists  such  numberless  shades 
of  caste,  such  wild,  drunken,  aimless  shooting,  and  such 
ideas  of  hhame  and  dishonor  as  those  holding  among  the 
Kling-gets.  Insults  and  suicides  in  both  parties  still  fur- 
ther complicated  affairs  by  requiring  a  life  of  equal  value 
from  the  tribe  of  him  who  gave  the  "shame." 

Occasionally  came  a  time — when  hoots-a-noo  ran  low 
and  the  hearts  of  the  people  were  weary  with  the  long  con- 
flict— that  a  settlement  was  aimed  at  by  cool  calculation, 
and  the  voluntary  offering  of  their  own  lives  by  men 
and  women  both. 

Foreseeing  the  endless  misery  with  nothing  to  be  gained, 
and  unwilling  to  touch  the  vile  spirit  whicu  made  men 
ready  for  such  work,  Kin-da-shon  had,  on  the  first  out- 
break, gone  quietly  to  the  little  village  of  Chilkoot, 
where,  during  all  the  months  of  subsequent  trouble,  he 
remained — struggling  to  make  good  his  heavy  physical 
loss  by  the  invention  of  tools  fitted  to  his  maimed  hands 
and  by  the  cultivation  of  what  remained  to  him. 

His  father  and  his  sister's  husband  were  obliged  to 
stand  with  their  tribe,  leaving  the  women  and  their  little 
ones  on  the  other  side. 

Shans-ga-gate  was  killed.  His  wife,  overwhelmed  by 
such  a  succession  of  troubles  as  had  befallen  her  family, 
hung  herself.  This  half-paid  her  tribe's  indebtedness  for 
the  death  of  Shans-ga-gate,  and  at  that  moment  the  bal- 
ance was  so  nearly  struck  that,  urged  by  reckless  grief 
and  a  desire  to  acquit  her  family,  Kahs-teen  rushed  into 
the  fight  and  demanded  that  her  life  be  added  to  that  of 
her  mother,  thus  filling  the  measure  required  by  her 
father's  death 


254 


K/X.DA.SIfON'S    WIFE: 


She  was  shot  down,  even  where  she  stood,  but  the  end 
was  as  far  as  ever.  A  high-class  man  in  her  own  tribe 
had  now  been  wounded,  and  it  was  uncertain  what  reward 
would  be  required  until  the  result  of  iiis  injury  could  be 
known. 

In  the  mean  time  more  hoots-a-noo  must  be  made.  A 
band  of  such  men  as  Yealh-neddy  and  Goosh-ta-heen  vis- 
ited the  trading  post  for  a  further  supply  of  molasses. 

The  trader — by  this  time  thoroughly  frightened — barred 
his  doors  and  fled  to  the  loft  of  his  house,  leaving  his 
native  wife  to  deal  with  the  infuriated  men,  who,  finding 
themselves  denied  an  entrance,  were  wild  enough  with  the 
taste  of  fire-water  and  blood  to  burn  the  barred  house 
down  over  its  owners,  for  revenge  and  the  chance  of  get- 
ting what  they  had  come  for. 

The  woman  yielded;  the  doors  were  opened;  with  what 
they  required  the  ruffians  were  furnished,  and  they  went 
their  way  to  manufacture  that  which  still  deeper  sank  the 
fair  country  in  blood  and  ruin. 

Men  were  found  to  carry  the  trader's  message  of  alarm 
to  Sitka,  where  lay  the  man-of-war  in  whose  force  was 
embodied  that  of  the  United  States  Government  for 
Alaska;  and  within  a  reasonable  time  a  detachment  was 
sent  to  Portage  Bay  to  bring  the  natives  to  a  better  under- 
standing among  themselves. 

Boasting  of  their  inland  position  at  Klok-won,  unap- 
proachable by  any  boat  of  size,  the  warriors  stood  little 
in  awe  of  any  man-of-war  power,  and  laughed  to  scorn 
the  idea  of  a  few  white  men  intimidating  them.  Never- 
theless, on  the  arrival  at  Klok-won  of  the  officer  in  charge 
and  his  handful  of  men,  warlike  demonstrations  were  at 
once  laid  aside,  and  the  fighting  tribes  listened  with 
much  show  of  respect;  then,  with  as  little  delay  as  possi- 


AN  ALASKAX    STORY 


fD3 


hie,  made  a  promise  of  peace — a  promise  jjroadly  includ- 
ing all  that  was  asked  of  them. 

To  Sitka  the  peace-makers  returned  and  declared  the 
trouble  at  an  end — the  Chilkats  at  peace  with  themselves 
and  the  world. 

'Twas  immediately  after  the  dispatching  of  this  peace 
party  to  Chilkat  that  the  missionaries,  coming  in  response 
to  the  Chilkats'  request,  arrived  at  Sitka,  expecting  there 
to  take  a  small  trading  boat  for  the  country  of  the  north. 
Hearing  of  the  trouble  among  the  people  with  whom  they 
had  chosen  to  live  and  labor,  they  wished  the  more  ear- 
nestly to  go  among  them  at  once. 

Passage  was  engaged,  when  the  commander  of  the  man- 
of-war,  with  kindliest  intentions,  interfered,  refusing  to 
allow  any  further  complications  by  the  entrance  of  whites 
at  such  a  time;  and  the  return  of  the  embassy  was  awaited 
with  anxious  interest. 

When  they  came,  their  favorable  report  immediately 
removed  every  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  missionaries, 
and  without  an  hour's  unnecessary  delay  the  new  work- 
ers were  aboard  the  little  boat  which  was  to  visit  the 
post  for  furs. 

By  actual  visitation  of  each  village  and  the  interview- 
ing of  their  people,  such  jealousies  were  found  to  exist 
between  their  petty  chiefs,  and  such  rivalry  in  their  de- 
sire to  claim  the  mission,  it  became  very  clear  that  if  the 
missionary  were  left  free  to  act  and  to  teach  it  must  be  in  a 
place  over  which  no  native  jurisdiction  was  recognized  as 
superior  to  his  own — a  place  to  which  persons  of  each 
and  every  tribe  and  village  would  have  equal  welcome 
and  equal  rights.  This  fact  decided  the  location  of  the 
village,  and  Portage  Bay  offered  advantages  for  the  work 
of  the  missionary  as  well  as  to  the  trader.      There  a 


256 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


building  was  soon  erectei.',  in  the  hope  that  all  persons 
from  each  and  every  native  Chilkat  village  who  really 
desired  better  things  would  come  and  unite  in  building 
up  a  new  village  and  an  enlightened  community,  and  that 
from  this  centre  there  might  emanate  influences  which  in 
time  would  affect  the  whole  peninsula.  From  this  cen- 
tral station,  too,  the  missionary  would  make  visiting  and 
teaching  tours  among  the  different  settlements,  extending 
and  not  disturbing  the  regular  work  at  the  mission  vil- 
lage. 

On  the  earliest  possible  day  after  getting  into  their 
new  and  unfinished  home,  the  missionaries  set  out  together 
to  make  the  initiatory  of  these  tours,  receiving  at  every 
place  warm  welcomes  and  the  sinccrest  hospitality.  Be- 
ginning at  Yhin-da-stachy,  a  night  and  a  day  were  spent 
there,  and  the  same  at  Kutwulhtoo,  holding  public 
meetings  at  each  place,  then  proceeding  to  Klok-won, 
where  such  serious  work  was  found  that  even  this  first 
visit  was  a  prolonged  one. 

Run;  ers  had  taken  to  Klok-won  news  of  the  missionary's 
coming.  As  his  party  left  Kutwulhtoo  return  messengers 
came,  saying  that  the  people  did  not  wish  to  see  the 
strangers;  they  were  in  blood  and  in  heaviness  of  heart. 
Their  shame  also  weighed  them  down  to  the  earth.  They 
could  not  look  up  to  the  faces  of  new  friends,  and  they 
were  not  ready  to  hear  of  their  God.  They  must  first 
have  satisfaction  and  an  end  of  this  trouble  among  them- 
selves, they  said;  and  they  had  now  but  ceased  fighting 
long  enough  to  burn  their  dead.  Even  now  they  were 
returning,  the  messengers  «;aid,  from  this  duty,  and  were 
loading  their  guns  for  further  warfare. 

On  receiving  this  message  the  missionary  urged  his 
oarsmen  to  redouble  their  speed,  and  at  this  point  that 
became  possible,  with  the  greater  depth  of  water.      The 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


257 


village  of  Klok-won  was  reached  before  the  fighting  had 
been  resumed. 

On  every  hand  throughout  the  village  were  seen  the 
sad  and  terrible  evidences  of  the  conflict.  On  the  fronts 
of  the  houses — over  their  thresholds,  often,  marking  the 
spot  where  fell  the  slain — hung  mementoes  of  the  dead. 
Snow-shoes,  knives,  moccasins,  aud  other  articles  of  dress; 
and  above  them  were  the  hastily-constructed  receptacles 
for  the  bones  and  ashes  of  those  who  once  had  used  these 
things. 

Everywhere  were  found  death  and  desolation,  wailing 
and  cursing,  darkened  homes  and  fireless  hearths.  The 
finely-colored  and  costly  carvings — household  gods  of 
many  generations,  whose  massive  strength  supported  the 
heavy  arches  of  many  houses  in  the  village — were  closely 
veiled  with  coverings  of  native  straw- matting.  The 
wounded  lay  among  their  tribal  friends.  No  wife  nursed 
a  husband,  nor  any  daughter  her  father — stoics,  in  suf- 
fering unrelieved. 

Nowhere  appeared  the  ordinary  vocations  of  domestic 
life.  No  busy  every-day  work,  no  cooking  of  food  nor 
making  of  ^arments.  A  pall  hung  over  the  once  busy, 
thriving  town. 

In  the  house  of  the  medicine-man — himself  solitary 
priest  among  his  demons — were  exposed  hundreds  of  his 
"utties" — carved  charms  of  bone,  wood,  and  shell,  huiig 
on  long  lines  crossing  and  recrossing  the  room.  From 
the  corners  of  the  house  also  peered  horrid  heads  and 
masks — heads  with  red  eyes  to  wink  and  snake-like,  fiery 
tongues  to  thrust  out  and  in  by  sinew  springs.  Head- 
dresses and  gi-dles  of  many  materials  and  various  styles 
had  place  in  the  collection.  Indeed,  every  tool  and  token 
of  his  trade  was  there. 

The  medicine-man  was  known  also  to  visit  now,  with 

n 


258 


KIX.DA .  SHOX'  S    WIFE: 


sacrifices,  the  great  altar  outside  the  village,  which  for 
one  unclothed  with  power  like  his  was  death  to  ajiproach. 
It  was  truly  a  harvest-time  to  this  emissary  of  evil,  who, 
by  every  artifice  and  device,  kept  the  people  in  a  state  of 
abject  slavery  to  himself. 

On  leaving  their  canoe  the  missionaries  were  met  by 
the  steward  of  a  rich  old  chief,  who  bore  with  true  dig- 
nity the  distinction  of  being  highest  in  rank  of  all  the 
Chilkat  people.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  this  chief  was  in 
nowise  involved  in  the  war;  but,  alone  in  his  high  caste, 
he  maintained  a  pt)sition  so  neutral  that  he  could  confer 
with  either  side  while  attempting  to  control  neither. 

This  chief's  servant  was  sent  to  meet  the  missionaries 
and  tc  say  that  it  would  please  his  master  to  have  the 
visitors  come  to  his  house.  On  accepting  his  invitation, 
every  kindness,  both  delicate  and  substantial,  was  shown 
them. 

An  adjoining  ancestral  house,  built  in  honor  of  deceased 
relatives  and  kept  as  a  guest-house,  filled  with  oddest 
dishes  and  quaintest  carv"  ^s,  was  opened  to  the  stran- 
gers as  a  more  retired  i-.dging-place  than  the  already 
well-filled  dwelling  of  the  chief;  and  stores  of  fish, 
mountain  sheep,  berries,  sugar,  and  even  a  little  fine  flour 
were  brought  for  the  use  of  the  guests. 

Bales  of  snowy  blankets — soft  as  down — were  opened 
and  spread  on  the  floor  for  those  whc^m  this  **  i>avage"  was 
pleased  to  honor. 

He  urged  them  also  to  make  their  stay  longer  than  they 
had  arranged  for,  saying  that  the  people  would  not  fight 
while  the  missionary  remained.  His  stores  would  hold 
out,  he  said,  if  those  of  the  strangers  should  fail  with  the 
tarrying. 

He  gave  permission  also  for  the  calling  of  a  meeting 
in  the  great  lodging-house — a  meeting  of  the  largest,  tribe. 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


259 


whose  caste  was  higher  than  that  of  the  tribe  they  were 
fighting.  He  sent  his  servants  to  bid  tliem  come  and  hear 
the  nicssa;.je  which  tlie  man  of  God  had  brought  them. 

They  came  in  a  mass.  It  was  a  congregation  to  thrill 
the  *^f  ^ft  of  one  bearing  the  message  of  peace  and  love — 
of  p'-cre  to  a  suffering,  f>truggling  world — peace  to  Chil- 
katy  torn  and  bleeding  as  she  was — of  love  from  a  God 
who  "so  loved  the  world  " — the  world  which  struggled  in 
enmity  against  him  —  so  loved  that  he  gave — not  took 
from  them  all  they  had,  to  pay  the  "  shame"  they  gave 
him,  but  after  they  had  done  all  against  him — he  gave 
his  only  begotten  and  well -beloved  Son,  that  they  might 
not  perish  but  have  everlasting  life.  This  mighty  loi'e, 
the  missionary  told  ihem,  was  given  to  the  Chilkat  peo- 
ple, not  to  one  tribe  only,  but  to  all  tribes.  Would  they 
receive  it?  Would  they  obey  it,  that  they  might  live  by 
it  in  peace,  and  forever? 

Hungry,  despairing  eyes  were  filled  with  wonder.  Such 
a  message  to  such  a  people,  with  whom  no  effort  of  the 
imagination  had  ever  produced  any  power  greater  than 
their  own  which  was  not  a  malignant,  scourging  power! 
Even  them  this  God  so  loi^ed !  Would  they  forgive  each 
other  as  God  was  willing,  as  God  was  longing,  to  forgive 
them?  That  was  the  question.  To  be  r^-r^m/ his  love 
must  be  obeyed. 

Hard  faces  softened,  dull  faces  kindled.  Their  hearts 
had  been  touched.     The  Chilkat  war  was  at  an  end. 

When  the  message  had  been  given  and  prayer  had  been 
made,  a  silence  fell  upon  the  house.  Then,  one  after 
another,  the  leading  men,  out  of  the  fulness  of  their 
hearts,  spoke. 

With  wondering  gratitude  they  acce{Kcd  this  token 
from  the  great  God  that  they  had  been  interrupted  in 
their  work  of  self-destruction  as  a  people. 


_ 


36o 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


They  rehearsed  the  story  of  their  troubles,  acknowl- 
edged the  power  for  evil  that  hoots-a-noo  had  been  among 
them,  and  they  told  with  perfect  frankness  how  little 
they  had  meant  by  the  promise  of  peace  given  to  the 
'men  of  war."  It  was  an  easy  and  quick  way  of  getting 
them  out  of  the  country,  that  their  own  plans  might  work 
out  unhindered 

"But,  missionary  chief,"  one  speaker  said,  '''this  is 
what  the  Kling-gets  do  when  they  make  peace:  The  head 
men  of  the  fighting  tribes  exchange  homes.  They  go 
into  each  other's  houses  as  its  honored,  t«rusted  guest. 
They  eat  and  sleep,  unarmed  and  unsuspicious,  in  that 
house  among  their  old-time  enemies,  proving  thus  Iheir 
own  sincerity. 

"  For  a  week  they  live  so,  and  the  barricades  are  takyn 
down,  the  carvings  are  uncovered,  and  all  things  rejoice 
together  when  the  people,  reconciled,  feast  and  sing  as 
friends. 

*' Has  this  been  done  here?  You  t.ee  the  answer  for 
yourself.  We  were  this  morning  as  far  from  the  end  as 
from  the  beginning. 

"  But  now  it  is  different.  This  God  of  yours  takes  the 
taste  ri  blood  out  of  our  mouths  and  makes  us  see  that 
we  are  brothers.  If  he  wants  us  to  have  peace  we  will 
make  peace  in  truth.  We  will  take  our  enemies'  head 
man  into  our  chief's  place.  He  shall  eat  of  our  food  and 
sleep  by  our  side."  This  was  the  new  spirit  of  the  larger 
tribe. 

Then  the  weaker,  the  broken,  bitter,  and  resentful 
remnant  of  the  other  tribe  was  visited,  beyond  the  barri- 
cade. Guided  to  the  house  of  the  chief,  the  i.trgest 
house  in  that  part  of  il;e  village,  the  missionaries  went 
to  ask  permission  to  ho.d  there  such  a  meeting  as  had 
been  held  on  the  other  side. 


AN   ALASKAN    STORY. 


261 


On  approaching  the  house,  their  attention  was  called 
to  the  Wdn-eaten  appearance  of  the  heavy  plank  walls — 
caused,  they  were  told,  by  the  bullets  and  lead  slugs  shot 
by  the  enemy  having  been  picked  out  again  to  shoot  back. 

A  few  feet  from  the  steps  which  led  up  to  the  house 
door  was  pointed  out  the  spot  where  the  chief's  mother 
had  fallen — shot  at  her  own  request,  after  one  of  her  sons 
(whose  life  had  been  demanded  for  the  honor  of  his  tribe) 
had  escaped  to  the  interior.  At  the  foot  of  the  steps  the 
ground  had  been  saturated  with  the  blood  of  his  sis- 
ter, who,  with  her  nursing  babe  in  her  bosom,  had  taken 
her  place  and  demanded  that  her  life  be  taken  with  iier 
mother's,  as  the  full  equivn'ent  of  her  coward  brother's 
life;  and  so  the  honor  of  their  house  was  preserved. 

At  the  top  of  the  steps  a  dark  stain  and  a  hundred 
bullet-holes  showed  where  the  chieftain  brother  had  met 
his  end. 

Entering,  the  great  house  seemed  a  first  to  be  unoccu- 
pied, 'twas  so  dark  and  hollow;  but,  on  growing  more 
accustomed  to  the  gloom,  they  saw,  sitting  on  the  edge 
of  the  fireless,  wreck-strewn  hearth,  the  emaciated  form 
of  a  man,  with  head  buried  between  his  knees,  his  thin 
hands  clasped  over  it,  so  lost  in  his  own  dark  musings 
he  had  not  noticed  the  entrance  of  any  one. 

The  touch  of  a  brother's  hand,  with  strong,  kindly, 
sympathizing  words,  caused  him  to  raise  his  hopeless  face 
for  one  glance.  His  expression  was  one  which  once  seen 
long  haunts  the  soul  of  him  who  sees  it.  He  could  not 
have  been  above  nineteen  or  twenty  years  of  age,  yet  he 
had  lived  to  see  every  member  of  his  family  destroyed. 
He  alone  was  left — the  head  of  a  tribe  which  saw  before 
it  nothing  but  blood  and  final  extinction  as  a  -esult  of 
this  war;  for  even  such  entire  defeat  were  less  bhameful 
than  giving  it  up  while  a  raan  was  left. 


263 


KJN.DA.SHON' S    WIFE: 


With  no  stirring  of  spirit  the  young  chief  gave  his  con- 
sent to  having  the  people  brought  together  in  his  house. 
They  came  and  heard  the  words  which  fit  every  need. 
There  were  tears,  and  a  relaxing  of  stern,  hard-pressed 
souls.  Then  the  young  chief  himself  spoke,  thanking 
the  bearer  of  God's  peace  for  coming  to  them  with  the 
word  of  life — with  the  offer  of  a  life  worth  having.  His 
own  life,  he  said,  he  had  found  too  heavy  to  carry. 
Having  lost  all  that  made  life  dear,  being  utterly  hope- 
less as  to  any  brighter  future,  he  was  saying  good-by  to 
iiimself  when  the  minister  touched  his  hand.  He  had 
determined  to  make  an  end  of  such  living,  and,  with  the 
weapon  which  was  to  accomplish  his  release,  he  had  taken 
his  seat  on  the  desolate  hearth  of  his  fathers,  ready  for 
the  deed.  But  he  had  felt  the  touch  of  a  strong  brother. 
He  had  heard  words  which  made  his  dead  heart  live  again. 
He  was  saved ! 

They  would  indeed  agree  to  this  true  peace-making. 

And  so  the  peace  was  made.  And  there  followed  feast- 
ing and  fellowship  in  which  was  no  sign  of  bitterness, 
though,  in  the  reuniting  of  families,  in  the  homein^ 
again  of  husb-inds  and  wives  and  children,  there  must 
have  been  many  sorely  sad  hearts  over  the  places  made 
vacant  by  the  twin  demons,  drink  and  ivar. 

After  returning  to  their  station,  the  missionaries  visited 
the  village  (^hilkoot,  and  >s  -x.  result  of  this  first  touring 
many  of  the  people  in  all  the  villages  were  brought  into 
sympathy  with  the  work,  with  the  workers,  and  with  each 
other;  so  that,  leaving  their  native  places,  they  gathered 
to  the  settlement  on  Portage  Bay  where  they  could  have 
the  advantages  of  regular  school  and  church. 

Kin-d^-shon  was  among  the  first  to  identify  himself  with 
the  new  community.  Though  so  maimed  in  hands  and 
feet,  there  was  no  man  so  busy  as  he  in  all  the  Chilkat 


AN   ALASKAN   STORY. 


263 


country.  In  stormy  weather,  and  when  his  feet  were  too 
painful  to  allow  him  to  be  about  much,  he  sat  at  his 
silver  work,  always  patient,  never  complaining;  he  often 
carried  his  carving  to  the  school-room,  where  he  worked 
while  studying.  In  good  weather  he  worked  out  of  doors 
at  canoe-hewing  and  many  other  things;  his  industry  and 
energy  never  flagged. 

With  his  steady  growth  in  the  knowledge  of  God  there 
was  a  corresponding  A/zr  of  God— a  oneness  ol  will  with  the 
will  of  God — a  growth  of  grace  and  of  peace  which  showed 
more  and  more  plainly  in  his  fine  face,  and  which,  in  his 
life^  was  an  open  book. 


264 


JCIN'DA-SIION'S    WIFE; 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


LITTLE       CHUB       CH-ONE. 


"/'"^HUB   wants    to    see    missionary  —  Chub    must   go. 

^-^  Somebody  calls  Chub's  spirit,  but  Chub  can't  j^o 
till  he  hears  the  big  bell  and  hears  God's  talk.  Take 
Chub  quick ;  something  pulls  Chub  too  hard  here — it  hurts 
Chub" — putting  his  poor  little  hands  on  his  breast. 

From  day  to  day  Ch-onc's  plea  and  the  plaint  came  alike. 
At  night  it  varied  a  little. 

"  To-morrow — ah  clah,  to-morrmv — take  Chub  to  see 
missionary;  Chub  must  go."  And  on  a  half-promise, 
which  was  still  unkept  by  those  who  made  it,  the  little 
one  would  fall  to  sleep,  only  to  awake  with  the  same  cry 
on  his  lips. 

It  would  have  been  difficult  to  find  anything  so  hard  for 
his  parents  to  grant  as  this  request  of  Ch-one  to  go  to  the 
missionary.  Already  it  had  become  very  evident  that 
his  work  was  at  war  with  the  work  of  the  medicine-spirits. 
Already  the  effect  was  being  felt  in  the  falling  off  of 
their  gains.  Nearly  all  of  the  village  of  Yhin-da-stachy 
had  gone  to  the  mission  at  Portage  Bay.  They  were  be- 
ing taught  that  much  of  their  sickness  was  due  to  the 
breaking  of  laws  which  had  been  given  by  the  God  who 
made  all  life.  These  laws  the  people  were  being  taught, 
and  the  sick  were  not  treated  as  thouyh  "witched,"  but 
were  given  medicines  and  nourishing  food. 

In  many  cases  such  patients  as  had  been  by  their 
friends  expected  to  die  came  back  to  health  and  strength, 
and  every  such  case  was  of  course  a  substantial  loss  to 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


265 


see 


cry 


the  medicine-men,  not  only  in  the  returns  which  each  in- 
dividual case  would  have  brought  them,  but  also  in  the 
growing  infidelity  regarding  their  power  which  each  re- 
covery under  the  missionary's  treatment  was  fostering. 

Ka-kee  meant  to  stay  away  and  do  what  he  could  to 
turn  the  tide  which  had  set  in  toward  the  missionary. 
Whispers  and  vague,  mysterious  hints  were  kept  flying 
hither  and  thither  as  to  the  missionary's  witchcraft,  and 
what  would  sooner  or  later  befall  the  people  who  listened 
to  him. 

Much  of  the  "new  way"  had  been  reported  in  the  house 
of  the  medicine-man  and  talked  over  between  Ka-kee 
and  his  wife  and  those  who  had  heard  of  the  true  God, 
through  the  mission — talked  over  in  such  a  spirit  as  had 
caused  Ka-kee  to  harden  his  heart  yet  more  and  to  resist 
all  influences  of  the  CJospel. 

To  little  Ch-one,  sitting  silently  in  his  corner  of  the 
hearth,  unnoticed  by  "the  wise  and  prudent,"  who  never 
dreamed  of  his  noticing  or  understanding  their  conversa- 
tion, had  come,  through  their  words,  whisperings  of  a 
wisdom  above  this  world;  and  a  longing  to  see  and  hear 
more  of  this  wonderful  life  and  love  and  God  took  pos- 
session of  his  being.  Never  before  had  he  seemed  to 
care  much,  or  long  at  a  time,  for  anything,  and  they 
thought  he  would  forget  this;  but  days  and  weeks  had  not 
altered  his  pleading. 

"  Take  me — /V//,  ah  clah;  Chub  must  go.  Chub  wants 
to  go  to  the  house  where  they  tell  about  God.  Chub  will 
die — take  him  quick." 

At  last,  convinced  that  he  was  indeed  dying  with  this 
last  desire  unheeded,  they  packed  up  such  little  stores  as 
might  be  necessary  for  a  few  weeks,  and  taking  Chub 
they  set  sail  one  bright,  early  w^inter  day  to  make  the 
thirty-mile  trip  around  the  peninsula. 


266 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


Along  the  whole  length  of  the  journey  he  lay  silent 
and  almost  motionless.  One  might  have  thought  him 
sleeping,  but  Tashekah — whom  he  could  never  bear  to 
have  out  of  his  sight — sat  holding  his  head  in  her  lap 
and  saw  that  his  eyes  were  often  lifted  to  the  sky — that 
the  little  thin  hands  were  folded  together  while  the  lips 
moved  as  though  he  spoke. 

As  the  day  wore  on  and  it  was  said  they  were  almost 
there,  he  laid  one  little  hand  on  Tashekah's  and  said: 

"Tell  me,  Tashekah,  tell  Chub  when  you  see  the 
house." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  last  point  was  passed.  The 
mission  with  its  belfry  stood  out  high  and  clear  in  the 
glory  of  the  setting  sun,  and,  stretching  away  to  the 
right,  along  the  gray  and  purple  beach,  lay  the  native 
village  nestling  in  the  shadows  of  the  pines. 

"There  is  the  house." 

"Lift  me  up,  Tashekah,"  cried  the  child,  now  trem- 
bling with  excitement.  "Let  Chub  see  the  place  of 
God." 

His  head  was  raised  against  her  breast,  and,  with  his 
tiny  hands  tensely  clasped,  the  child  fixed  his  gaze  upon 
the  poor  buildings  so  gilded  and  glorified  to  his  vision. 

The  missionary  had  heard  of  his  coming,  and  went 
down  with  the  evening  into  the  little  village  to  carry 
such  good  things  as  were  found  for  the  sick;  best  of  all, 
the  words  of  life  for  hearts  weary  and  sick  unto  death. 

The  soulful  eyes  of  Chub  were  raised  to  the  loving, 
pitying  face  above  him,  while  his  hands  were  folded  in 
a  warm,  strong  clasp.  Sitting  thus  by  the  child,  very 
tenderly  the  messenger  led  his  thought;  and  very  plain 
was  made  the  way  for  Christ's  little  ones  coming  home. 

Next  morning — the  Sabbath — dawned  clear  and  still. 
Out  on  the  early  breeze  floated  the  bright  folds  of  the 


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AN  ALASKAN  STORY.  267 

large  mission  flag,  the  signal  to  all  passing  canoes  that 
the  day  of  rest  had  come,  when  the  "  church  house" 
would  be  filled  with  music,  the  words  of  God  to  men, 
and  the  voice  of  prayer  from  man  to  God. 

Very  beautiful  was  the  scene:  a  new  robe  of  snow  had 
fallen  during  the  night — which  gave  not  so  much  the  idea 
of  cold  as  of  purity.  The  tall  rich  grasses  waved  their 
brown  heads  above  it,  and  the  taller  ferns  bowed  in 
grace.  From  the  booths  and  huts  of  the  hastily  con- 
structed village  arose  the  blue  smoke  curling  close  against 
the  dark  greens  of  the  forest;  while  immediately  in  front 
of  the  village  the  clear  mirror  of  the  bay  gave  back  again 
the  inverted  picture. 

As  voice  to  the  living  scene,  the  sweet,  heavy  tones  of 
the  mission  bell  fell  with  the  certain  sound  of  "peace  on 
earth,  good-will  to  men," 

At  its  first  vibration  the  waiting  people  began  to  emerge 
from  their  little  homes,  moving  along  the  snow-covered 
path,  among  the  ferns  and  rushes,  up  to  the  little  chapel 
on  the  hill.  The  colors  of  their  kerchiefs  and  their 
blankets — red,  orange,  and  purple — gave  the  last  touch  of 
beauty  to  the  scene,  as  was  the  response  of  the  people  to 
the  call  to  prayer  the  filling  in  of  its  spirit. 

The  morning  had  found  Chub  very,  very  weak ;  he  had 
not  spoken,  but  refused  silently  the  proffered  food,  and 
lay,  as  he  had  lain  the  day  before,  almost  without  moving. 
At  the  sound  of  the  bell  his  eyes  opened  wonderingly; 
then : 

"Take  Chub,"  came  in  feeble,  pleading  tones. 

Looking  into  each  other's  faces  the  father  and  mother 
shook  their  heads.  Chub  did  not  notice  them.  In  a  few 
moments  his  expression  changed  before  their  wondering 
eyes,  a  far-away  look  fell  on  the  face  of  the  child — a 
look  which  presently  brightened  into  one  of  inexpressible 


268 


KIN-DA-SHON'S    WIFE  : 


'■* ! 


joy  and  peace,  and  from  his  white  lips  came  the  words: 
"Ah — ah — God's  house — Chub  comes." 

The  beautiful  eyes  were  closed,  and  over  the  poor  little 
hands  and  feet  were  drawn  warm  coverings  of  wool.  They 
hung  around  his  neck  their  charms  and  paints,  they  laid 
around  and  about  the  little  dead  body  all  that  their  love 
and  their  possessions  could  give,  and  it  was  then  ready  for 
the  burning. 

A  handful  of  ashes,  a  little  box  of  bones,  and  a  void 
in  the  hearts  of  those  who  loved  him  were  all  that  re- 
mained of  little  Ch-one.  Yet  no!  Eternity  may  show 
far  more  than  these. 


An  eventful  year  passed  at  the  mission  village.  The 
winter  was  one  of  unprecedented  storm  and  consequent 
suffering  to  the  people  in  their  open,  hastily-built  huts; 
for,  provident  people  that  they  were,  they  would  not  leave 
their  fishing  and  curing  and  oil-making  and  berry-pre- 
serving until  their  store-houses  were  filled  against  the 
winter's  need. 

They  seemed  to  think  that  with  so  much  comfort  for 
the  stomach,  and  with  the  school  for  mind  and  heart, 
small  provision  would  be  necessary  as  to  shelter. 

The  storms  came  early  and  with  such  violence  that 
even  the  natives  themselves  were  housed  for  weeks  unable 
to  go  to  their  old  villages  for  supplies  they  greatly  needed. 
When  afterward  a  lull  came  and  they  went  to  get  the 
food  they  had  so  laboriously  prepared  and  so  carefully 
housed,  it  was  found  that  their  houses  had  been  broken 
open  and  the  food  was  gone — stolen. 

Many  weeks  of  privation  and  suffering  followed,  during 
which  the  viain^  and  to  many  the  only^  article  of  diet  was 
the  little  black  mussel  found  at  low  tide  on  the  rocky 
beach. 


il'i 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


269 


A  terrible  epidemic  broke  out  among  *he  peop)  i;  many 
died.  Many,  whose  superstitious  minds  were  wrought 
upon  by  the  prophecies  and  curses  of  the  medicine-men, 
gave  to  these  birds  of  evil  even  their  last  blanket,  that 
the  spirits  might  forgive  them  the  welcome  they  had 
given  the  missionaries.  That  was  the  cause,  these 
prophets  said,  of  all  the  evil  which  had  befallen  the 
people. 

Others,  seeing  how  many  of  the  sick  recovered  when 
tended  and  fed  by  the  missionary,  while  nearly  all  whom 
the  medicine-men  danced  over  died^  held  to  the  teachers, 
and  the  mission  house  was  filled  daily  from  morning  till 
night  with  the  sick  and  suffering,  who  in  many  cases  were 
carried  by  their  friends  for  treatment.  Often  through 
the  night  was  heard  the  call  at  the  window:  *'  Come!  oh, 
come  quick!  my  husband  is  dying;"  or,  "my  child;"  or, 
"  my  wife. "     Calls  which  were  always  promptly  answered. 

Thus  were  formed  two  growing  elements — the  grateful 
love  of  the  people  toward  their  new  friends  and  the  mis- 
chief-working hatred  of  the  medicine-men  and  their  en- 
slaved followers  who  feared  to  not  follow  them.  When 
sickness  had  increased  the  medicine-men  had  appeared 
as  birds  of  prey,  coming  from  the  other  villages.  The 
missionares  were  charged  with  witchcraft  and  were  both 
publicly  and  privately  warned  that  if  any  of  their  patients 
should  die  they  should  give  life  for  ///<?,  which  threat  made 
no  change  in  their  manner  of  working  among  the  people. 

Time  after  time  was  their  school  emptied  by  the  threats 
and  assertions  made  to  the  villagers  by  these  false  and 
wicked  men,  though  it  was  soon  filled  again  by  the 
hungry,  knowledge-loving  people  whose  superfj*itions 
were  strong  as  life. 

Spring  came  at  last,  bringing  light  and  food  and  health, 
and,  to  a  great  extent,  freedom  from  the  troubles  of  the 


2  70 


KJN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


long  winter.  Many  of  the  people  returned  to  their  old 
homes  for  the  summer,  intending  before  another  winter 
to  put  up  comfortable  log  houses  at  the  mission  village. 
Ka-kee  left  with  his  family  among  the  first;  but  the 
mission  seemed  to  possess  a  strange  fascination  for  him, 
and  very,  very  often  his  peculiar,  stealthy,  creeping 
step  was  seen — not  heard — as  he  haunted  the  place. 
When  he  thought  no  one  noticed,  he  would  crouch  by  the 
low  window  and  study  the  interior  of  the  rooms,  but  no 
earthly  power  could  induce  him  to  enter  the  place  until — 

There  was  a  baby  at  the  mission,  "  the  sweet  snow  baby" 
she  was  called  by  the  natives,  who  idolized  her.  She 
had  a  smile  and  a  "picked-off"  kiss,  given  with  tiny 
thumb  and  finger,  for  every  one  who  approached  her,  and 
all  her  baby  words  were  in  the  language  of  her  dark 
friends.     It  was  the  baby  who  drew  him  in ! 

Many  times,  from  an  adjoining  room,  the  mother,  at 
hearing  her  baby  tap  on  the  window-pane,  with  the  ac- 
companying invitation  "  Hah-goo"  (Come  to  me),  had 
peeped  in  to  see  the  tiny  hands  extended,  beckoning  to 
the  wild-looking  creature  outside.  One  day,  having  not 
noticed  for  a  longer  time  than  usual,  on  going  in  to  see 
what  baby  might  be  playing,  the  mother's  heart  stood 
still  for  a  moment  at  the  sight  which  met  her  eyes.  So 
noiselessly  had  he  stolen  into  the  house,  no  sound  had 
reached  her  ears;  but  there  on  the  floor  lay  the  medicine- 
man, asleep:  and  on  a  marmot  robe  beside  him,  unsoiled 
by  any  touch,  lay  the  fair,  sweet  babe,  asleep  also!  And 
so  she  won  him.  After  that  day  he  came  often,  and  as 
often  he  heard  the  words  of  life. 

Another  winter  he  did  not  come  to  the  mission.  But 
Kunz,  having  gotten  a  taste  of  learning,  could  not  give  it 
up ;  all  the  way  from  Yhin-da-stachy  he  came  to  school  and 
to  church,  though  not  regularly,  for  his  father  was  hav- 


AN  ALASKAN  STORY. 


271 


ing  hemorrhaf^cs,  and  Kunz  was  the  man  of  the  house  in 
the  matter  of  fuel  and  fires.     Eve.i  Tashekah  was  sometimes 

allowed  to  come. 

As  the  spring  came  on  Ka-kee's  long-abused  body 
wasted  very  rapidly.  Again  and  again  he  asked  for  the 
missionaries,  and  when  they  went  to  him  his  cry  was  for 
medicine  for  body  and  soul. 

"I  am  dying — give  me  medicine — I  want  to  see  God," 

he  said. 

One  day  at  church  the  subject  had  been:  "  If  thy  right 
hand  offend  thee,  cut  it  off."  Poor  Kunz  was  deeply 
touched.  After  the  meeting,  though  the  evening  shad- 
ows were  gathering,  and  the  long,  lonely  tramp  through 
forest  and  field  lay  before  him  ere  he  could  be  safely 
housed,  he  lingered  behind  all  others  to  speak  with  the 
missionary. 

"Oh!  good,  kind  friend,  my  poor,  poor  father  is  dy- 
ing," Kunz  said;  "give  me  the  medicine  that  will  'cut 
it  off ' — his  sins." 

Very  lovingly  and  patiently  the  missionary  explained 
to  him  again  the  simple  way  of  salvation — the  meaning 
of  repentance,  of  love,  and  forgiveness.  Then,  with  a 
heart  so  filled  with  holy  things  that  he  seemed  never  to 
think  of  the  forest  goblins,  Kunz  went  home  to  his 
father. 

Not  many  days  after  came  the  message-  "Ka-kee  is 
dead."  He  had  had  many  talks  with  Kunz  and  had  him- 
self prayed.  He  died  without  watchers  in  the  silence  of 
the  night.  In  the  morning  they  found  him  with  his  cold 
hands  clasped  upon  a  little  book;  it  was  the  New  Testa- 
ment. 


272 


KIN.DA-SHON'S    WIFE: 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


ON    THE    STREET-SITKA. 


"  nnHERE    goes    'drunken     Luce'    again.      Strange, 
"*•       whether   howling  drunk    or   sullenly   sober,    she 
has  always  that  child  by  the  hand,  isn't  it?" 
"Who  is  she,  anyway?     Belong  to  Sitka?" 
*'  I  don't  know;  seems  to  me  I've  heard  she  came  from 
the  north  somewhere;  but  I've  seen  her  about  here  ever 
since  I  came  to  the  country,  two  years  this  fall,  and  I 
tell  you  there's  been  an  awful  change  in  her  since  then." 
"How?" 

"If  you  mean  'how,'  I  imagine  that's  considerable  of  a 
story;  but  if  you  want  to  know  what  the  change  is,  I  can 
tell  you  in  a  few  words.  She  was  the  best-looking  native 
girl  I  ever  saw — not  like  the  common  slouches  you  see 
every  day,  but  with  a  step  that  meant  something;  neat 
and  clean;  and  her  face — why,  you  would  never  think  of 
its  being  the  same!  She  had  the  child  with  her  then, 
just  as  she  has  him  now;  that's  the  only  thing  that  Aasn'f 
changed  about  her." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  Gone  to  the  bad  ? " 
"Well,  yes;  I  rather  think  she  has.  It  would  be  hard 
to  find  a  worse  case  than  she  is  and  has  been  for  many  a 
day.  She'll  wink  out  in  a  spree  some  of  these  times — 
before  long,  too.  Did  you  notice  her  eyes  and  the  color 
of  her  face?  It's  there,  sure  as  death  itself." 
"  Is  she  never  sober? " 

"  Never,  I  believe,  when  she  can  get  anything  to  drink 
— and  there's  no  lack  of  moisture  in  Alaska.     There's  an 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


273 


awful  leak  between  prohibitory  law  and  high  license; 
with  rogues  to  guard  the  bunghole  there's  enough  spilled 
to  bring  all  the  natives  of  Alaska  to  the  gutter.  Pity, 
too.     They'd  rather  work — if  there's  money  in  it." 

"That's  peculiar.  But  this 'Luce. '  I'd  rather  like  to 
hear  her  story;  do  you  know  it?" 

"Only  what  I've  seen  since  coming  here.  She  was 
living  at  first  with  a  white  man  called  Bill,  in  that 
cabin  over  there.  And  you  might  go  a  long  ways  and 
find  no  neater  place  than  that  was.  She  behaved  like  a 
decent  woman  and  went  about  very  little. 

"But  she  always  had  a  terrible  sadness  about  her,  and  a 
look  in  her  eyes  that — you  needn't  laugh,  Jim,  but  if 
you  could  imagine  your  sister  looking  like  that,  it  would 
make  you  cry,  man  of  the  world  as  you  think  yourself. 

"Well,  of  course  the  man  she  lived  with  was  a  worthless 
scamp,  and  before  many  months  he  skipped  the  country 
and  left  her  with  two  children  to  keep  instead  of  one, 
and  not  a  dollar  to  live  on.  I  never  saw  her  drunk  be- 
fore that.  But  she  had  to  leave  the  cabin;  what  things 
she  had  went  to  pay  the  rent ;  and  she  went,  as  poor  as 
she  was  born,  into  the  ranch.  For  a  while  she  went 
around  like  the  ghost  of  a  person  starved  to  death.  I 
declare  it  was  a  positive  relief  to  see  her  drunk  at  last. 

"  There  are  always  plenty  of  chances — such  as  they  are — 
for  a  native  wo'tian  to  make  a  living  in  these  towns;  but 
with  most  of  them  it's  not  long  they  «^^^  anything  to  live 
on  after  they  take  the  chance. 

"  Luce  must  have  taken  hers  then,  and  she's  gone  from 
dance-house  to  hovel  and  from  drunken  rows  to  the 
lock-up  ever  since.  She's  thoroughly  bad^  and  yet — that 
child — I  don't  understand  it.  The  baby  died,  but  that 
child  is  always  with  her.     Funny,  don't  you  think  so?" 

"  Don't  like  the  story.     Have  a  cigar,  and  walk  me  to 
18 


274 


KIN-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


Indian  River.     I'll  dare  you  to  do  it  before  the  China- 
man's gong.     Done?" 


"The  marshal  has  poor  Luce  again,  mother;  three 
times  in  a  week — can  nof/ting  be  done  to  help  her?" 

"That  woman  is  a  mystery  to  me,"  answered  the  mis- 
sionary's wife.  **  I  can  make  nothing  of  her  at  all. 
When  she's  drunk,  as  she  usually  is,  it  seems  useless  to 
speak  to  her;  and  when  she's  not  drunk  she  is  so  stub- 
bornly silent  and  sullen  that  it  is  just  as  hard  to  know 
what  to  do.  I've  been  wondering  myself  how  she  could 
be  reached;  it  seems  such  a  hopeless  work  among  those 
women;  they  run  such  a  headlong  race." 

'Twas  evening  of  the  second  day  after  Luce's  arrest 
that  very  unceremoniously  the  door  of  the  missionary's 
house  was  opened,  and  Luce,  wild-eyed,  haggard,  and 
despairing,  asked: 

"Where  is  the  man  who  knows  God?     Quick!  " 

"The  missionary,  you  mean?  I  will  tell  him."  And 
in  a  few  moments  the  minister  stood,  kindly  asking: 
"What  is  it.  Luce?" 

Not  waiting  for  his  question  or  greeting,  the  woman 
had  begun  to  speak,  with  her  breath  coming  in  gasps  and 
her  hand  held  tight  above  her  heart  as  if  to  hold  it  still. 

"Me  baby,"  speaking  in  such  English  as  she  had 
picked  up,  *^ sick.  You  God-man  make  him  no  die: 
come  quick!  " 

"  Your  little  boy  is  sick  ?     How  many  days  sick  ? " 

"  One  dav — come  !  " 

"  But  where  is  he  sick  ?  I  must  know  something  about 
it  to  give  medicine." 

"  He  head  crazy;  come — you  see — quick!  " 

Without  further  delay  the  missionary  followed  her  to 
one  of  the  most  miserable  houses  of  the  village,  and  there. 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


275 


in  one  corner,  wrapped  in  the  mother's  poor  old  shawl, 
was  the  child — the  idol  of  her  heart — lying  quietly, 
with  heavy,  labored  breath,  with  flushed  face  and  wide, 
unseeing  eyes. 

"A  very  sick  child,"  the  missionary  said  to  himself, 
as  he  examined  pulse  and  temperature.  "  Poor  woman!  " 
he  added  aloud  as  Luce  took  her  boy  into  her  arms  and 
sat  looking  from  his  face  to  that  of  the  minister. 

'*  He  no  die  ? "  she  asked  at  length  with  her  heart  in 
her  hungry  eyes. 

"  I  cannot  tell — I  hope  not.     How  did  he  get  sick  ? " 

Her  eyes  fell,  her  face  dropped  low  on  her  breast 
above  the  child,  while  a  crimson  flush  took  the  place  for 
a  moment  of  its  awful  pallor,  leaving  it  then  more  ghastly 
than  before. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  the  kindly  voice  urged;  "I  may 
know  better  what  to  do  for  him.     How  did  he  get  sick  ? " 

"In  lock-up." 

"  How  was  that  ?    Was  he  cold  there  ?  " 

"  He  cold  there — he  wet  first,  and  one  night  all  dark — 
no  fire — he  shake. " 

"I  see.  I  will  go  get  what  may  make  him  better;  we 
will  try  it." 

Returning  later  with  such  remedies  and  comforts  as 
seemed  to  be  required,  the  missionary  himself  stayed  to 
administer  them.  And  Luce,  though  she  had  slept  none 
for  two  nights,  sat  watching  him  with  eyes  which  seemed 
unable  to  close. 

Several  hours  passed  before  any  change  was  noticeable 
in  the  little  patient's  condition,  then  a  slight  moisture 
dimmed  the  glistening  forehead  and  the  breath  came 
more  softly.  Gradually  the  eyelids  drooped,  without 
the  quiver;  and  natural  sleep  held  him  in  her  safe  em- 
brace. 


a'j6 


KINDAS/WN  S    WIFE: 


"Your  child  is  better;  it  is  good  sleep  now.  When  he 
wakes  his  head  will  be  all  right,  1  think,"  the  missionary 
said. 

The  woman  looked  at  him — looked  at  the  child.  An 
indescribable  expression  passed  over  her  face ;  then,  reach- 
ing out,  she  rearranged  the  old  blanket  on  the  floor, 
laid  the  child  on  it,  and  covered  him  tenderly  with  her 
faded  shawl.  This  done,  she  went  to  another  part  of  the 
room,  and  sitting  down,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands, 
sobbing  and  crying  and  writhing  in  a  tempest  of  emotion. 

Anxious  beyond  expression  to  give  to  the  poor  crea- 
ture the  help  she  needed,  yet  fearful  of  making  a  mistake 
in  his  choice  of  words,  the  minister  sat  still  by  the  child, 
silently  praying  for  direction. 

When  her  passion  had  at  last  spent  itself  she  arose  and 
went  to  the  good  man's  side.  Kneeling  there,  she  li^rhtly 
touched  his  arm,  and  with  the  tears  still  streaming  down 
her  cheeks  she  said: 

'*  Me  baby — you  good  God-man  make  him  no  die.  He 
head  crazy — you  make  sleep  good.  Me — me  bad — me  very 
bad — allee  same  crazy  heart.  Too  hard  my  heart — too 
big  stone^  heavy  too — can't  carry  me  sometimes, 

"White  man  give  whiskey,  *  no  heavy,'  he  say;  too  much 
lie — too  much  bad — white  man.  One  stone  heavy  my 
hearu  -one  whiskey — then  three  stone  heavy  me. 

*'  Now  long  time  me  don't  care.  Me  heart  all  stone. 
Just  now  me  baby  get  well — me  heart  all  break,  it  all 
mix  up  bad,  stone,  sorry.  You  God  see  it — everything! 
You  God  strong  maybe — maybe — "  and  she  clutched  the 
arm  in  her  eagerness — "maybe  you  God  make  me  well 
heart. " 

With  a  joy  which  found  expression  in  silent  thanks- 
giving for  such  a  call  to  preach  the  free  and  blessed  Gos- 
pel, the  minister  led  this  poor,  defiled,  and  broken  heart 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY. 


277 


he 
lary 

An 
[ch- 
)or. 


to  the  Fountain  opened  for  cleansing  and  for  the  heal- 
ing of  the  nations. 

By  degrees  he  gathered  something  of  her  story  since 
coming  to  Sitka.     Of  her  previous  life  she  only  said; 

'*  In  Chilkat  me  no  bad — me  husband  very  good — but 
plenty  trouble,  me — no  more  live  Chilkat. " 

Coming  to  Sitka,  in  her  simplicity  she  had  supposed 
that  the  people  lived  altogether  as  they  did  in  Chilkat, 
and  that  she  would  be  welcome  to  a  place  by  the  fireside 
of  her  friends,  with  the  privileges  of  helping  to  secure 
and  prepare  stores  of  fc  c!  for  winter  and  of  then  sharing 
in  their  use. 

But  her  friends  were  of  those  who  no  longer  lived 
honestly  earning  br?aa  by  ilie  sweat  of  their  brow.  They 
had  money — ill-gotten — and  with  it  bought  what  they 
fancied  at  the  traders'.  They  told  her  how  she  could 
do  the  same,  and  v/hen  she  refused  they  turned  her  out. 
Homeless  and  not  knowing  what  to  do,  she  had  wan- 
dered about  the  town  until,  weary  and  heart-sick  and 
her  child  crying  with  hunger,  she  sat  down  in  a  lonely 
place,  wishing  they  might  die  together. 

While  she  so  sat  "  Bill"  had  come  and  made  a  proposal, 
which,  according  to  the  only  law  of  marriage  she  had 
ever  known,  was  honorable  and  fair:  "  He  would  give  her 
fifty  dollars  if  she  would  be  his  wife." 

The  husband  of  her  love,  who  was  her  husband  no 
*  more  forever,  had  given  more  than  three  times  that 
sum,  but  she  could  not  expect  that  now.  "  They  would 
live  in  a  little  house  of  their  own,"  he  said,  "where  she 
could  have  all  the  food  she  wanted  for  herself  and  the 
child — and  clothing,  too.  Winter  was  coming  on:  by 
whose  fire  would  she  warm  or  feed  her  babe  ? " 

Too  sick  at  heart  to  care  for  anything  else  than  her 
child,  she  accepted  his  offer.     More  than  the  amount  he 


278 


KIN.DA.SHON'S    WIFE: 


gave  her  was  claimed  by  the  friends  who  had  brought  her 
with  them  from  Chilkat:  she  had  nothing  to  lay  by. 

When  he  threw  her  off — poor,  sick,  hopeless,  friendless, 
and  ignorant  of  the  world  she  had  fallen  into — her  ruin 
had  been  sure  and  rapid.  And  now  she  knew  it  herself 
— death  was  at  her  door.  But,  blessed  thought !  life  also 
was  near;  and  she  was  entering  in. 

About  a  week  later  a  messenger  came — the  child  him- 
self, it  was. 

"Mother  can't  get  up,"  he  said;  "will  the  minister 
come?" 

There  was  only  time,  after  getting  there,  to  give  the 
assurance  that  "  her  baby  "  should  be  taken  into  the  mis- 
sion home  and  taught  the  better  things.  Then  she  folded 
her  one  earthly  treasure — her  beloved  boy — to  her  bosom 
in  a  long,  last  embrace,  crying  in  their  own  familiar 
tongue : 

"Kah-hlid-zeen,  my  heart's  child,  forget  never  that  your 
vwther  was  Kin-da-shon' s  wife  !'' 

And  it  was  by  this,  in  after-years,  that  KIn-da-shon, 
visiting  the  Sitka  Mission  School,  found,  half-grown, 
manly,  and  intelligent,  his  long-lost  and  only  son. 


AN  ALASKAN   STORY, 


279 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


CLOSING  GLIMPSES. 


TTOW  she  had  heard  of  the  city  of  refuge,  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  discover;  but  to  the  mission- 
ary's place  came  Usha-shawet,  a  gray,  shrivelled,  stoop- 
ing, creeping  creature,  who  talked  in  whispers  to  herself 
and  seemed  to  inhabit  a  world  entirely  her  own. 

She  came  to  the  church  services,  sometimes  appearing 
to  hear  what  was  said,  and  again  chattering  to  herself  as 
though  conscious  of  no  other  presence. 

She  interfered  with  no  one — found  her  own  food,  some- 
times sat  or  slept  by  friendly  village  fires,  but  oftener 
no  one  knew  where. 

In  one  of  the  village  houses  there  was  a  little  cripple 
from  an  affection  of  the  spine,  caused  by  her  mother's 
own  carelessness,  but  who  her  friends  persistently  de- 
clared to  have  been  bewitched.  It  was  during  an  ab- 
sence of  the  missionary  that  old  Usha  was  seized,  bound, 
and  flogged  within  an  inch  of  her  life  on  the  charge  of 
being  this  troublesome  witch.  Nine  days,  without  food 
or  water,  had  she  been  in  this  torment  before  the  mis- 
sionary returned,  and  her  release  was  had.  Utterly  nude 
she  lay  on  her  bed  of  devil-sticks,  too  weak  to  struggle. 
Her  speechless  tongue  hung  from  her  mouth,  black  and 
swollen. 

She  was  released,  moved  to  comfortable  quarters,  and 
bathed.  The  power  of  swallowing  was  gone,  but  drop 
by   drop  nourishment  enough  reached  the  life-channels 


28o 


A'/iV-DA-SHON' S    WIFE: 


to  revive  her,  and  after  a  time  she  got  about  again  and 
became  one  of  the  common  grannies  of  the  village. 

'*Usha,"the  missionary  asked  her,  "what  made  you 
say  that  you  were  a  witch  when  they  asked  you?" 

"It  is  true,"  the  old  creature  said  in  her  queer  absent 
way,  her  weak  eyes  watering;  "the  bad  spirits  they  got 
Usha.  Bad  spirits  talk  to  Usha — they  take  Usha  to 
medicine-man's  dead-house;  Usha  get  plenty  bad  medi- 
cine there  for  everybody.  Usha  flies  high  over  all  the 
houses — nobody  catch  Usha,  She  walks  far  on  the 
water  and  she  don't  sink.  Big,  strong  devil;  Usha  has 
strong  devil  inside,  too.  Usha's  spirit  makes  many  little 
men  and  women  sick.  It's  good  if  Kling-gets  kill  devil 
spirits. "  Then,  sitting  down,  she  began  to  pluck  the  grass 
and  leaves,  speaking  to  them  as  to  children,  apparently 
forgetting  that  any  one  else  was  with  her. 

Usha  was  thenceforth  allowed  to  remain  or  go  about 
the  country  unhindered,  while  a  number  of  others,  res- 
cued in  a  similar  way  from  conditions  of  torture  as  great 
as  hers,  were  made  outcasts  from  home  and  friends. 

During  a  later  absence  of  the  missionary,  six  adults, 
accused  of  witchcraft,  were  tortured  and  killed  during  one 
winter.     Among  them  was  the  grandmother  of  Tashekah. 

When  Tashekah  was  no  longer  bound  to  the  family 
of  Ka-kee  she  followed  her  heart  to  the  mission:  her 
quick,  hungry  mind  feasted  on  what  she  found  there, 
and  she  became  proficient,  too,  in  many  of  the  simple  ac- 
complishments which  go  to  make  a  happy  home. 

She  was  the  same  Tashekah,  yet  not  the  same.  Sweet 
and  even  she  was  by  nature,  but  mental  and  spiritual 
growth  had  developed  and  ripened  a  character  of  price- 
less worth. 

He  who  now  sought  her  for  his  own  true  mate  had, 
through  a  long,  hard  road,  gained  faith  and  light  and 


A^V   ALASK'AiV    STORY. 


281 


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I 


peace^  and  now  followed /(^y  —  the  satisfying  of  a  pure 
heart. 

"I  want  my  new  house  only  just  big  enough  for  Ta- 
shekah  and  me,"  he  had  said  to  the  missionary  in  build- 
ing the  pretty  nest  which  was  so  greatly  to  differ  from 
the  many-family  shelters  of  old.  "  I  want  to  hold  her  so 
close  that  no  evil  may  be  able  to  fall  betvreen  us." 

'Twas  the  first  Christian  marriage  in  the  tribe — the  first 
establishing  of  a  two-one  heme,  where  the  true  God  was 
held  in  loving  reverence,  and  where  at  morn  and  eve  the 
man  with  his  wife  knelt  in  prayer  and  praise  together. 

And  the  next  year  when,  on  a  sweet  Sabbath  morning, 
they  brought  their  baby  daughter — pretty  she  was  as 
Kotch-kul-ah  herself — and  together  stood  presenting  her 
for  baptism,  the  fulness  of  the  benediction  seemed  to  have 
fallen  on  Kin-da-shon  and  his  wife. 


THE   END. 


